


Shadows of the Falls

by Leliel12



Category: Changeling: The Lost, Gravity Falls, White Wolf, World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Dark Fantasy, Gen, Horror, Mystery, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3761062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leliel12/pseuds/Leliel12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is happening to Gravity Falls. Strange, short, and vicious warriors are entering the town through thorny portals to hunt the denizens of the forest, soon moving on to menace the humans as well. The Mystery Shack sets out to discover the link between the town's troubles and a haunted hospital to the north...unknowing of the evil that eagerly awaits new slaves...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Can't Argue With A Classic

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody! You probably don't know me, since most of you are likely Gravity Falls fans, and I was not generally involved in that fandom. I am, however, a devotee, and more than that one who never understood the concept behind crossovers being fundamentally worse than pure fiction. So...Take my offering, standard disclaimer about properties.

_Tick._

The minute hand moved.

_Tock._

The thorns pulled.

_Tick._

The boy started to walk. It was rainy, wet, and, in theory, cold, but the fire still kept things fairly warm.

_Tock._

The building didn't look inviting. More like a wooden castle, meant to remind everyone who beheld it that it was the owner of the castle who ruled the land, not them. But it looked defensible, anyway; that was part of its threatening presence. That was what was important now.

_Tick._

The sky wasn't going to stop burning any time soon, after all.

_Tock._

"Did He see you, kid?" asked the man at the doors. The boy was confused a bit, thinking he meant one of the faces in the doors, but then he realized He was internally capitalized. There was only one He in the world now. As far as the boy knew, He didn't. But there was a lot the boy didn't know. Things he couldn't know; that knowledge was not meant for him.

_Tick._

He knew the girl, the twin, and the eternal child. He was fond of them, but he couldn't tell you why. Sentiment was something He didn't understand, so He got rid of it. It wasn't a complete thing, but it did make it a small enough thing for Him to safely ignore. The eternal child peeked through the window shutters, and winced at the blackened sky. "Nothing out there right now, dudes. Well, there's  _somethin'_ out there, but none of it's menacing guys in hoodies. Kind of wish it were, you should be really glad you did  _not_  look back, let me tell you."

_Tock._

"Hey guys, I wonder if this computer still works," said the girl, plugging in an internet cable. Archaic, but did the boy really expect anything else in this place? An almost obscenely normal boot-up screen, featuring a clock counting down. A sterile wallpaper, probably meant to seem comforting but instead came off as cold. Unsympathetic.

_Tick._

The minute hand moved again, and the thorns pulled more.

_Tock._

The Internet worked, it seemed. Not that it helped. There was nothing He hadn't touched in some way, no matter how frivolous. Here, on  _TYZ,_ there was talk of a bright young starlet and her upcoming marriage to the Muse of Lethargy and Despair like it was just actors being an item, with the only diversion from usual gossip being sappy praises for a woman not listening to the naysayers and accepting the love of a creature that generally identified as female on the occasions it needed a human pronoun. There, a medical website described the growth of viney plantlife through varicose veins and developing scars that formed lettering of the hundred proclamations of the King of Lost Hope as mere skin conditions, with the same weight of zits or rashes. The CIA and White House urged cooperation with the Master of All Sorrows and its sibling/mate, the Heart in Man's Dementia, as He urged.

_Tick._

Nothing personal escaped His influence, either. Every social media profile contained some prayer to the new Lord of the Fates, some plea to turn away His dooms or praise for dooms that were not as ill as they could have been. Not a single name among the profiles, for names of individual people were the ultimate sentiment. Nothing but a bunch of clocks in the name spaces

_Tock._

Almost to the point where the hour hand would move now, and moving would be a thing of the past.

_Tick._

Eventually, even the twin's boundless optimism gave out, and all turned away from the computer. For a moment or two, before the man turned back. And screamed.

_Tock._

There was something looking out into the room, a pair of eyes on a face so dark and featureless that it might as well have been the darkness grew the pearl-like organs itself. Almost like organic spotlights, scanning the room with a malevolent curiosity, twin beams of dim, baleful light shining through the screen and gliding over all present.

_Tick._

The boy unplugged the computer, but while the sound of the hard drive whirred down and ceased, the eyes remained the clocks it had for pupils fixing themselves on him, almost seeming amused. He swept the monitor to the floor, causing it to land screen down.

_Tock._

That didn't stop the searching beams from exploring the room, though. Just not from the computer.

_Tick._

And the boy understood; the reason the building  _was_ a fortress, and not one for humans. It was His castle, His throne, His clocktower. He could have destroyed the interlopers at any given time, but He had let them live long enough to show the totality of victory, backed by the process of destiny itself. To mock them with the immanent death of humanity as they knew it, to roar in glory one last time before setting out to establish its new world order, one by, for, and about Him. And there was nothing anyone could do, for His victory was preordained.

_Tock._

The hour hand moved, and with that, the thorns grew so tight he had to kneel on the clock's face. There was no way to consider running now. The waiting men licked their lips.

* * *

Dipper Pines did not have nearly as many nightmares as his parents often thought. What he  _did_ have was a tendency to make sure the world knew when he did.

" _WAAAAH!"_

A couple blinks, and the wide-eyed expression on the male half of the Mystery Twins quickly melted into annoyance.  _And an adult bursting through the door in three...two…_

A very loud crash that would  _guarantee_ the world knew that Dipper Pines had a nightmare (if somewhat indirectly) resounded through the shack, a half-second later than predicted.

"DIPPER! WHAT IN THE NAME OF...do I need the deer tranquilizer again?"

"No, Grunkle Stan, it's just a stupid nightmare," Dipper began, already retreating back under the covers. "No portals or great uncles incapable of just telling family about other family members were involved, in case you were wondering."

Outside of Dipper's field of vision, Stan mulled over a possible response to the not-entirely-veiled snipe. Before he could formulate a response (one that wouldn't sheepishly dodge the question), his niece was awake enough to catch on to the general gist of the situation.

"Oh come on, bro-bro. are you going to be mad about this forever? It makes your face all...wrinkly."

More out of habit when Mabel noticed these things, Dipper concentrated on somehow un-furrowing his brow. "I know Mabel, it's just that two months of lying is  _kinda_ hard to get over, even if Stan was just trying to-you know what, I really don't think the middle of the night is a good time to have this discussion."

"Good plan!" And with that, Stan ran off back to his bedroom. Mabel sighed, but quickly was snoring herself.

Dipper took a little longer to go asleep. Maybe that  _was_ a bit harsh, he decided, and to be frank, that dream seemed a little weird. The kind of weird that the town of Gravity Falls was known for...kind of. Most weird things in this town, while often spooky, were usually benign or at least open to peaceful resolution (a certain one-eyed floating triangle being a rather large exception, but the humorless nature of the dream really didn't seem like Bill Cipher's style). This though...this seemed like a ripoff from a Lovecraft ripoff.

Whatever. Again, middle of the night, there wasn't nearly enough energy left in him to actually scan the journals to figure out what kind of weird thing would provoke dreams of name-eating god-monsters who took over the world, or convince Stan to let him look over numbers 1 and 2. Besides, it could have been just a nightmare...but there was a difference between skepticism and being so closed-minded your brain suffocated.

After quickly writing down the details of the nightmare, the male half of the Mystery Twins went back to sleep, hoping the new dream would be perfectly and nicely irrelevant.

* * *

One of the weird things of Gravity Falls, Jeff the Gnome King In All But Name, yawned. He  _really_ didn't like staying up this late, but there were three things that fell to his unofficially kingly duties to solve.

First, he was the smartest gnome, on a general basis, and had the most skills with tracking and organizing the gnomes' collective supplies of firewood, stone, and the jerky.

Second, someone was stealing supplies of both the firewood and the jerky.

Third, the other gnomes had collectively decided that whoever thought stealing the jerky was a good idea was completely and utterly insane, and thus had hidden behind their exalted unofficial leader before the crazy thief decided he or she wanted gnome flesh to wash out the taste of the jerky. Hence, Jeff using his tracking abilities in the middle of the night, finding the thief with nothing but a pitchfork to guard him. And several other gnomes with pitchforks, because he wasn't an idiot.

"Alright, Carson, you take the left side of the path, Steve gets the right, Shmebulock, you guard the back and draw out your scream if you see our thief coming our way-and, er, everyone else too, I just don't have a way to tell thief from any other doom with his...descriptive abilities."

The gnome in question shrugged. "Shmebulock," he agreed, taking up the rearguard.

The tiny men of the forest, tiny lanterns in hand, proceeded to set off in the direction of the latest not-normal-forest sound.

"So, here I was, taking my squirrel bath…"

Apart from Jeff himself, other gnomes had grown used to their boss' boredom-induced prattling. They simply nodded and pretended to listen.

"...So I say to the gremloblin, 'your dad was scared of squirrels? Well, first, that  _is_ kind of stupid, but second…"

That didn't stop them from praying that danger would present itself soon, so that Jeff would actually clam up.

"...a hedgehog! I was amazed-Hey, do you smell something?"

"The gnomes sighed in relief when it became quite clear that Jeff was too busy sniffing the air to speak. After a second, they remembered they should probably be following his lead.

"...Beef?", Carson guessed.

"Burger meat, more like," Steve replied.

Shmebulock didn't bother, but if he had his full grasp of the language he would have argued an extremely tough and hardy form of steak, spit-roasted, with an undercurrent of parsley and onions (being unable to speak didn't mean unable to cook or take orders).

"It's definitely cow-based," continued Jeff, looking in the scent's apparent direction. "But it's not in the direction of the town. In fact...aha!"

There, right off the path a couple miles , was a tiny little fire. Straining their hearing, the gnomes could hear a contented voice humming a simple song.

"Yep, unless Bob just forgot to tell us he was camping, I think we found our thief!" Jeff, feeling relieved and not just a tad bit more confident now that he knew that the thief was gnome-sized, strode forward.

A little closer, a few more things could be made out. For one, the fire wasn't  _that_ small, it was just was hidden by a large log-looking thing. For another, off to the side, there seemed to be a rather large amount of thorns growing out of a pond. On the very edge of the pond, almost like a wall. Or a doorway.

For Jeff's purposes though, it was the humanoid form in front of the fire, a little taller than a gnome, lost in whatever activity required fire and jerky.

"Hey you! Yes you, by the fire!"

The humming voice briefly stopped, but any hopes of the thief turning around were quickly dashed when he started singing for real.

"Alloutette, gentille alouette, alloutette, je te plumerai…"

Jeff brought a hand to his face. "Ah heck, he's Canadian. Does anyone know any French? Or charades?"

"Er…"

"Uh…"

"Shmeb…"

Jeff shrugged. "Okay then. Improve it is." He cleared his throat.

"Je te plumerai la tête, je te plumerai la tête…"

_Okay Jeff. Remember what the phrasebook said...what wasn't torn out of it._

"Désolé! Je appartiens à vous!"

The singing stopped.

"Do you now?"

Jeff's beard-hair stood on end. That voice was a lot more menacing when he wasn't singing. Even and deep, like a cave had suddenly grown vocal cords. "Erm, yeah. We kind of own that wood, and-"

"So you're pledged to belong to whoever takes your stuff? Odd, but there's stranger ownership laws."

Jeff suddenly realized he probably needed to steal a better phrasebook. "Er, no, what I meant was...was...uhh…."

The figure had turned around. And stood up.

He wasn't  _particularly_  big, as far as forest creatures went. In fact, by most scales, he was rather small-about the size of a large tween human. Still that was three times as big as most gnomes, all of it sleek defined muscle. He may have been larger, but rather than walk, he loped-crouched and constantly poised to strike like a cat.

His eyes shone like a cat's too, flashing green as he loped a little closer.

It took Jeff a few seconds to realize that the shape over the fire had shifted too. Almost like it was being carried a bit closer.

"Uh...I mean  _absolutely_  no offense here, but, uh, I don't know...what do you mean pledges?"

"Oh? So you aren't hedge-born then?" The figure loped a little closer, drawing something out of an unseen pocket. "Hm. Brothers? Maybe we should save our latest for the lean times?"

"Better plan, Boscage," began another voice, raspy and oddly, feminine. "We get the little men to tell us where the rest of them is,  _then_  we save for the lean times."

"Or, we go back to eating this, then back to our old task," said a third voice, who by the tone, was very irritated by the the proceedings. "That ogre ain't gonna trap himself."

"...Actually you know what," Jeff began, starting to step backwards. "You can keep the firewood, we never liked that jerky anyway. We'll be over here and-"

"Sssssme…"

"It can  _wait_  Shmebulock, you know, back where it's-"

"Buuuu…"

"What's gotten...into…"

As Jeff turned around to fully run or stack on the other gnomes to run faster, he suddenly realized the oddball gnome wasn't looking at the rest of the group, but  _above_  it.

And remembered his standing order.

"LOOOOOCK!"

"DUCK!"

Bad choice, as it turned out. As soon as Jeff curled up, a woody, thorny vine had wrapped itself around his head. This wasn't as nearly as uncomfortable as it could be, given how this also had to get his torso by necessity, but still, the gnome was quickly yanged up into the trees, pitchfork flying away.

His lantern came with him though, so he got to see  _exactly_  who using the vine-trap.

He screamed.

Another figure, slightly taller than his compatriot on the ground, was crouched in the tree branches, a knife with a blade as long as his thigh in hand. On every patch of skin there was signs of deliberate scarring and piercings, jagged lines of healed burns and puncture wounds. The  _actual_ piercings seemed to be whatever vaguely sharp detritus he could find, from bones to small rocks to broken glass. Feathers from some strange bird were tied through his long, stringy hair, and a bit of the vine that was now gripping (yes, gripping, this thing was animate, Jeff was sure) was threaded around and  _through_ his left fingers. Tied around his neck, the only garment except for a rather modest loincloth was a black snake-skin tied around his neck like a scarf-except it wasn't quite a snake-skin. It wasn't quite physical, as far as Jeff could tell.

More alarming, however, was his face. Besides the catlike eyes, now revealed to be all too human when they weren't refracting light, were his teeth. Pearly white, shining...and filed. To shark-like fangs.

The monster sniffed the gnome, who was too terrified to consider struggling, even when the tree-dwelling creature decided that wasn't good enough and taste-tested instead, an abnormally long tongue dragging itself up Jeff's face. Looking perturbed, the monster then prodded the gnome with the blunt end of his spear.

"Hard," the monster almost growled. "Bony."

"W-Well that would be my massive skull!" Jeff began, fully realizing he was grasping at straws. "If you're thinking what I think you are, gnome really isn't a good meal at all!"

"...Why."

"Well, see, we gnomes have t-this thing where, y'know, one dies by age or, uh, monster. Part of our, uh, funeral thing is that we take his wisdom back to the group, and uh-"

"Get to the point."

"Well, you see, even beyond grieving, I can tell you, cooking a gnome is  _not_  fun!"

The monster cocked his head, curiously.

"See, the head? Hardest part of a gnome's body," Jeff began, trying very hard not to stammer. "Which given how it's the  _largest_ part of a gnome's body, means that you aren't going to be able to get around it. I'm not saying this just to avoid getting eaten; preparing gnome is seriously a time-waster, particularly when you have an ogre problem. I mean we even have this joke where eating a gnome wastes less time-"

"How so."

"Well, first you have to get this giant pot, enough to fit the entire gnome in because the neck bones are just as hard as the skull...which, now that I think about it means we have really tough spines too-"

"That will be all." The monster leaned over his branch. "This one's species is too bony for purposes of time."

Jeff heard the other monsters groan in dismay and annoyance. "Really, Gloomdrake? Too bony? You took your current name from a shadow dragon, and it's  _too bony?_ "

"Enough," Gloomdrake growled. "This thing has other uses than meat."

Jeff released the breath he had been holding. "THANK YOU! Thank you, you won't regret this, I swear I wouldn't want to be you after eating gnome-"

"Quiet."

The unofficial leader's mouth could not close any faster without breaking the sound barrier.

"Now, little man. You're going to go back home, and tell  _nobody_  about us Teihiihan. If our latest prey's herd comes calling, you say you have no idea, and you make the other little men clam up. When we ask you for something in the next year and a day, you get it done. Otherwise…"

The monster tensed his fingers like a puppeteer. Almost like a dog following commands, the vine let Jeff look below him, at the shape that was being carried one-handed by two of the other monsters.

The shape that used to be a Manotaur, at least before what looked to be a series of wooden spikes and rocks were done with him. Still in his hand was the missing jerky. Not still with him was a significant portion of his skin.

"That will happen to you. While you're still alive. Do we have a deal?"

Jeff could not nod fast enough. He almost didn't feel the warm wind almost coil itself around his hand, or hear the winding of a clock.

"And the pact is set." The Teihiihan grinned, a jovial bear trap. "See you around."

The vine came to life again, and threw the gnome in the direction the other gnomes had scattered. He somehow managed to hit the ground running.

* * *

**Leliel Presents**

**A Gravity Falls/New World of Darkness Crossover**

**Shadows of the Falls**

* * *


	2. Chapter 1: The Huntsmen Cometh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are two hunters, who are nothing alike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we get into the actual story!

It said a lot about Gravity Falls that the most recent event the town had experienced was the side effects of an opening interdimensional portal. Namely, a series of gravitational anomalies and attendant earthquakes, which had a significant risk of destroying the entire planet. It says even more that the general attitude of the town could best be described as "...I have to  _clean_ this, don't I?"  
  
Such as it was with the Mystery Shack; coincidentally, it was also the location of said interdimensional portal, and remarkably intact given the circumstances. Which is to say, still standing.  
  
One could make a similar statement about the relationship between the owner of both the Shack and the portal, and his grandniece and grandnephew.  
  
"So, Grandpa L's going to be on a...familiarization vacation?" Mabel said carefully. She never did get the hang of tongue twisters ("She shells...she smells...she...sneezes?").  
  
"Stanley can't stand not knowing, never did, never will. So yeah, if he's been gone for thirty years, he wants to know the basic of what the heck happened." Grunkle Stan shrugged. "That's why he wrote those journals to begin with, didn't trust his own memory to retain everything; thought it was worth the risk of someone finding 'em than forgetting how to survive a, I don't know, ghost attack or sometin' in the middle of it."  
  
"Does he have the ability to see in ultraviolet, too?" Dipper wondered aloud.  
  
"No, but he kept a handheld blacklight everywhere even before he wrote in invisible ink. Never in danger of hidden bloodstains in the apartments of secret murderers, my brother-even if there  _are_ some hidden things he'd feel better off  _not_ seein'. I know some  _I'd_ rather remain blind to." Stan shivered a little as some of his less seemly adventures with his six-fingered twin brother came rushing back.  
  
"Yeah...about that…" Dipper pursed his lips, looking as awkward as he felt.  
  
"You're wonderin' why I didn't tell you," Stan guessed.  
  
"Well, that, and..well, I'm not angry," Dipper said, not sure if he was lying or not. "I'm mostly confused-I mean, rebuilding a portal to get your brother back kind of seems like a three-person job. It just seems, well,  _counterproductive_ to keep it from your brother's  _grandchildren._ We  _kinda_ would be open to the idea of saving Grandpa L from a distant dimension where time is...weird."  
  
Mabel, who had long ago realized that there was no arguing with a purely logical statement of Dipper's, leaned back, looking uncomfortable.  
  
Almost as uncomfortable as her great uncle. "Yeah...in retrospect, I kinda, sorta, maybe see how that was, in retrospect, a very poorly thought-out plan."  
  
"So...why?"  
  
Stan inhaled. This was going to be a long one "...Well kid, you don't live as long as I do on, shall we say, the less strict side of the law without developing some healthy paranoia. Undercover agents and all, you understand."  
  
"And you thought I might be one because…? Grunkle Stan, I'm not the tallest person in the world, but I think you could tell if I was old enough to be admitted into the FBI."  
  
"Oh you'd be surprised. This one guy, Agent Bonaparte...okay, let's rewind a bit." Stan cleared his throat. "I can, and to be honest, I was pretty sure you wouldn't tell. But...when you've gotten so used to not trusting people with things, it can be hard to get out of the habit, y'know?"  
  
Dipper raised an eyebrow. "...This is the closest thing to an actual apology I'm going to get out of you, isn't it?"  
  
"Much like...urgh, 'please', the s-word is something I feel naked saying. But unlike the p-word, I'm actually used to being naked, so…" Stan inhaled, while Mabel covered her eyes. "Dipper, I'm...sorry for not trusting you with what I was planning. And Soos, now that I think of it."  
  
"Thanks for your sudden addendum, Mr. Pines," said a previously unseen handyman, before he set off to fix a shelf.  
  
Dipper, for his part, seemed mostly okay with the apology. "...All right. But there's one more thing."  
  
"Hit me," Stan said solemnly.  
  
"Why, in the name of all that is just and fair in the world, is there a  _monkey_ on the couch?"  
  
The bonobo in question was remarkably sporting about the whole situation, considering she was in a bird cage. Apparently marathon TV was equally hypnotic to all higher primates.  
  
"Ah. Well, see, at one point, I had to join the circus as a 'mind reader', due to my finely-honed senses of anticipating the desires of dumb tourists…

 

* * *

 

"...and that's how your Grunkle Stan caught the Phantom Peanut of Napa County! Any other questions?"

Wendy, having arrived somewhere in the middle of the story, raised her hand. "Um, could you go over that-"

"No!" Dipper exclaimed, the threat of another 30-minute long tale enough to snap him out of his trance. "Please no! Trust me, it isn't much more straightforward in context."

"Ha! Anyway, I got the old ringmaster on my side...somehow. I don't think she's ever goin' to be free of my reputation, tell you the truth. So that's why I have Tuba here," he said, walking over to the TV hound monkey. "I was thinking we're probably goin' to need a lot of income to cover all the repairs, fines, being out of business for a while, and that huge, er, donation to the FBI."

Wendy, for her part, decided to pretend she didn't hear that. Less incrimination that way.

"So I'm going double time: our grand reopening is going to have, among other things, the  _Screaming Brownie of Portland!_ " Stan drew out in his best "spooky" voice.

Dipper and Mabel looked over to Tuba, who was busy being the quietest monkey they had ever seen.

"Cover your ears, kids." Wincing, Stan hit the power button on his remote.

For a second, Tuba stared at the now-blank screen, disbelieving.

After that second, she made an an adequate imitation of the vocals of Imminent Deafness and Bass by VCEP (Vacuum Cleaner in Excruciating Pain) from their album Wub Out The Brain (banned in Australia, partially for lack of artistic merit, mostly because the government felt that a stereo with it on full volume qualified as a weapon of mass destruction). Thankfully Stan was able to switch on the television before the glass cracked.

"I figure she'll be a huge hit, just as soon as I get these liability warnings filled out." Stan grinned, pulling out a rather familiar set of papers. "...Need to remember how to spell 'cochlea', though. Soos! Thesaurus, now!"

"Wordy components of law speak, coming up!"

As Soos ran off, Dipper couldn't help but feel a pit in his stomach. One that went by the name of  _Oh no, I know what he's going to say next._

"...Say, Dipper, while I'm at it-"

"What's the costume this time?" Dipper cut in, rolling his eyes. "Can it  _not_ be a repeat of the Wolf-Boy? That fur needed washing, like, five years ago."

"What?" Stan blinked for a second, then tried very hard to suppress laughter. It didn't work.

"...It's worse, isn't it?"

"No! No, I mean...heh, I wasn't even trying, and the look on your...ha! Seriously though, kid," Stan said, composing himself. "There's no other live attractions this time."

On the one hand, this was cause for celebration. Heavy lifting was  _nothing_ compared to the embarrassment of being Stan's latest specimen.

On the other: "Er, is there anything else other than Tuba? I mean, the live exhibits are the biggest draw-"

"How about  _undead_ exhibits?"

Dipper blinked.

 

* * *

 

"Honestly, I'm not sure where this thing came from."  
  
The exhibit in question appeared to be the twitching talon of some bird of prey or another, though unlike most talons it had five claws, making it look oddly like a hand instead. Threaded through the wrist was a leather cord, which Stan was currently yanking.  
  
Said yank also caused the talon to spasm, almost like a living thing. To the point where it it was nearly dancing inside the glass.  
  
"...We  _sure_ that's a good idea, Grunkle Stan?" Mabel wondered. "I mean, last time Dipper had a true weird thing on full display here, we had to replace a wall. And the poor Singing Salmon nearly lost his voice from having to perform for an hour, I don't want him to go through that again."  
  
"Yeah, I know it looks weird, but-take a closer look."  
  
Sure enough, on closer inspection, the talon seemed to be artificial. The cord seemed to be attached to a well-camouflaged pull-switch, and the skin was a bit too rubbery to be real. Certainly almost a movie-level prop, but a prop nonetheless.  
  
"I think it'll be a hit; certainly somethin' that is  _almost_ creepy is sure to draw in good reputation, and unlike Tuba, I can use this thing again. Of course," Stan said, starting to look rather sneaky, "there's also the souvenirs, those other things that have been remade by the Claw of Crowowlar's dark power…"  
  
"...I'll get the clay," Dipper replied, irritated.  
  
"Yay! Evil artifact arts and crafts!" Mabel scooted off in a different direction than her brother.  
  
"Is this the kind of evil artifact that requires chanting to malevolent gods of darkness and destruction? Cause I got some death metal CDs on a bet, could do in a pinch," Soos chimed in.  
  
"...Actually, we could use that as a backdrop to the Brownie," Stan replied. "Seems...fitting."  
  
"You got it Mr. Pines!"  
  
And so the Mystery Shack set off to work.

 

* * *

 

Several hours, molding, a clasp on the molds deciding it didn't particularly like Soos (or was a fan of being the human equivalent of a bear trap), and an impromptu clay furnace later, Stan set out to the task he was the most skilled at: drafting sales pitches.  
  
Creating fake occult paraphernalia, Stan had long discovered, was a matter of presentation. Ugly little statue? Meh. Ugly little statue that appears to have been naturally formed, and decorated with various Hollywood black magic symbols (upside-down pentagrams, letters in dead languages, and the like)? Better. All of the above, plus some backstory pulled out of an internet ghost story? ...Not actually best. The trick was to make sure that it was creepy enough to be interesting, but not so creepy it tripped the survival instincts of the more naive customers and they left briskly, without buying anything.  
  
So it was with the so-called Clawtouched. The various molded bits of vaguely menacing junk looked fearsome enough. Even better, they actually looked the part of being transformed by a mysterious, nocturnal avian-based being's (or at least its severed talon's) power, being covered in minute feather designs (the result of a repurposed stencil and attendant spray paint). Now came the story; each one was fairly unique as far as paperweights went, so each needed its own story and attendant asking price.  
  
This amulet, for instance; it looked like a pair of claws clutching a teardrop, so something fitting would be using it to avoid sadness. Naturally, the protagonist of the story would be over reliant on it, eventually crushing their ability to feel regret, turning them into a huge jerk (naturally, the fact that said protagonist was  _over_ reliant would reassure the naive customer they could avoid that-or possibly they were a huge jerk already, being a happy jerk couldn't hurt). That wasn't hard at all, Soos had a favorite online author who seemed obsessed with the idea of sadness and how people dealt with it (Stan thought the whole thing was a bit overblown, but to each his own).  
  
Another thing, this figurine; it looked almost like it was leering, daring whoever looked at it to come at it with all they got. Maybe it was possessed by the ghost of a boxer? Stan decided to look over his own notes for the "ghost" in question, he knew a lot of monster hunters in his time, and those tended towards the weird side of things even before they got involved in the oogie-boogie stuff (just look at Stan's brother).  
  
Finally, there was this...arm.  _So that's what happened to Soos' mold,_ Stan guessed, given its dimension _._  Anyway, no harm (to the clay), no foul, the clay hand had suitably sharp nails already. Hm, maybe it could be the petrified remains of the world's most evil wrestling heel? Would explain the thorn tattoos. So, over to Wrestle-  
  
Wait a minute.  
  
Where did  _those_ come from?  
  
Sure enough, Soos' cast had a tiny, but detailed, design of the thorny vines of a rose bush winding across it. Each bloom was a deep, rich blue. The kind of blue that would be natural if blue roses were a natural breed. How Stan arrived at this observation was beyond him. Maybe because the stems looked so...alive.  
  
"...Hey kids?"  
  
Mabel appeared by his side. "Hey Grunkle?"  
  
"Did either of you paint roses on this?"  
  
Mabel crinkled her brow. "Well... I did do flowers on the teardrop thingy...maybe a kitty on the statue thingy. Did a lot of those stars made from five lines too, all upside-down, just like you-"  
  
"Yeah, I see them," Stan cut in.  _Damn. I was hoping I could make better props with that talent._ "Thing is-I'm not saying you missed anything, I just, well…" The elderly man steeled himself and set the accidental statue down.  
  
"Oh yeah, we had a spare mold anyway, so we decided we could use that other one and...ohhh," Mabel said as she noticed the painted tattoos. "Those are really pretty...and I don't think even my natural fashion talents could make those. I'm more of a clothes wizard myself...or would I be a witch, since I'm a girl, but a witch makes people uglier so she's the prettiest, so it doesn't really fit…."  
  
Stan blinked. "...Any idea who or what put them there? You kids tangle with the Graffiti Gremlin or somethin' weird like that?"  
  
"Oh, that's  _silly,_ Grunkle! The Gremlin works with  _reds and yellows,_ she hates green!" Mabel said. "Apart from her though...I really don't know anyone capable of painting something that good. I mean, Soos was playing with the Claw of Crowaw...Cow...the Claw Thingie earlier, but I don't see why that would-"  
  
"Hey dude?" Speaking of Soos, the rather perturbed-looking handyman was now leaning through the door. "Do you have the Claw?"  
  
"No?"  
  
"Well, that's very interesting, because it's not in the case."  
  
Stan blinked. "Er-"  
  
"I went back to, er, check on it, but the thing's either turned invisible, or it ain't there, and I think I could feel it if it were invisible. Also, I think I need to clean the glass of fingerprints now, the infinite slice of pizza gets really greasy."  
  
There was a moment of silence as Stan slowly began to contemplate what this meant. Beyond fingerprint cleaning.  
  
A moment broken by Tuba screaming.  
  
"AH HECK, THE TV'S GONE OUT, I'LL THINK OF WHAT I'LL YELL AT YOU ABOUT WHEN-"  
  
The screaming stopped, followed by a cage clattering.  
  
Various rumbling, and the clatter of items falling to the floor.  
  
And then  _Dipper_ screaming.  
  
"MABEL! HELP!"

 

* * *

 

If one didn't know there had been an earthquake a week or so ago, they could be forgiven for believing one was happening right then for all the chaos that was happening at the Mystery Shack.  
  
Tuba's cage was now more of an abstract, flower-like shape, with the monkey herself having taken advantage of the fact it wasn't capable of containing her any more. The television brought in to calm her was face-down, its plug torn out of the wall socket. Various other items were scattered about the floor, some in one piece, some others...not.  
  
Firstly, Wendy had drawn out a long fishing spear and was desperately waving it about in a threatening way, knuckles white from clenching it so hard. Dipper had found a much shorter fireplace poker and was now using the journal #3 as a makeshift shield. Behind them, Tuba was clenching an arm in pain, her shoulder fur reddened with drying blood.  
  
That wasn't the alarming part, however. The alarming part were the living beings in the area. Or rather, one of the four already there before Soos, Mabel, and Stan arrived. The thing in front of them, balancing on the shelves and baring its (or his) teeth, was the truly alarming one.  
  
It looked something like a very short, tanned man wearing breechcloth, not particularly muscular but certainly wiry and well-defined with what muscles he did have. That wasn't a particularly good summary of his appearance. For one, every inch of bare skin had at least one scar or piercing, probably more. That would be alarming enough, except none of the piercings were normal ones. Rather, they seemed to consist of anything sharp enough to piece skin, with glass, rusted steel, and even what appeared to be industrial plastic here and there.  
  
For another, his teeth themselves...didn't look quite right. The yellowish tinge brought to mind a wolf or other mammalian predator, and the canines seemed a bit thin and long-unnaturally so. His stance only reinforced the image, looking more like a wolf clinging to the shelves with all four of his limbs, and raising his back in a similarly canine posture.  
  
And his eyes...his eyes weren't colored like it seemed they should be  
  
Their color didn't seem particularly unnatural, but that shade of blue seemed animalistic. More like a cougar than a dwarfish individual. He appeared to have a stone knife attached of the belt of his breeches, and was wearing the "undead" toy claw as a medallion around his neck.  
  
That was one mystery solved, at least.  
  
Stan, understanding the concept of priorities, did not go with his instinct to tell the weird animal-man to give back his property. Instead, he quickly and deftly pulled out one of his showman's canes from its hiding place. Mabel and Soos were not far behind, with a large stick (formerly of a not-so-lucky exhibit) and a screwdriver, respectively.  
  
Next priority: "What in the name of a molasses-tarred engine is going on here!?"  
  
"Beats me!", Wendy called back, careful to keep her fishing spear's tip on the dwarf. "I just heard Tuba screaming, and when Dipper and me checked, Napoleon here-"  
  
"Cadwallop."  
  
It took the Shack's employees a second to realize the hard, growling voice belonged to the dwarf.  
  
Dipper lowered his makeshift shield (ie, the journal #3) slightly. "Um, sorry, didn't-"  
  
"My current name. Right now it's Cadwallop."  
  
...Okay. One of the odder names any human or primate present had ever heard (or possibly a verb involving a cheerfully callous male and the result of being especially callous to a person of the violent persuasion), but then again, whatever supernatural species the guy belonged to was hardly alone in having bizarre names.  
  
Mabel cleared her throat. "Er, Mr. Cadwallop? Um, I can tell we got off on a bad start, but maybe we can back up a bit and-"  
  
"He was trying to eat Tuba," Dipper interjected. "That's what she was screaming about! This jerk had her shoulder in his teeth!"  
  
Mabel blinked. That was new. "Well... If you'd like, we have some really great treats in the fridge!" she said, more out of desperation to prevent a fight than anything.  
  
Cadwallop's eyes narrowed, looking actively offended.  
  
Mabel giggled nervously. "Okay, maybe I can buy you something you'd like? How does that sound?" Harsher glare. "No? Oh, well..."  _It was worth a shot,_ she thought.  
  
Then she thought  _Why is he stroking the Cursed Claw of...the heck!?_  
  
For the toy claw...wasn't a toy anymore.  
  
Whereas once the claw had been a clever-looking but obvious fake, now it looked like a real bird claw, recently severed from its owner. It twitched rapidly in all directions, and tiny rivulets of blood were running down the talons from the bony stump. The cord attached to the stump wasn't leather either, but a finely woven set of still-living thorny vines. As Cadwallop crouched, tiny blue rose buds began to sprout.  
  
And then he  _lunged._  
  
There was only one person in the room who didn't take a few seconds to realize that the dwarf was no longer on the shelf, but rolling back onto his feet on the floor. The one person was Soos, and the reason he didn't take the time to realize it was because the thing the strange creature was rolling off of was his head. It was a forgivable oversight, given his not-unrelated unconsciousness.  
  
Those few seconds the others took figuring out what was going on was more than enough for Cadwallop to grab the unconscious handyman by the shirt and carry him over his shoulder, barely slowed down by the weight of someone who had to be at least three times his total mass. By the time the rest of the shack was chasing after him, the dwarf was already running off with Soos in tow, knocking the fallen wire skeleton of the cornicorn behind himself in the process.  
  
"Dipper, Wendy! You jump that, me and Mabel will- _whoa!_ " Stan's plan was cut off by a hanger flying off the skeleton  _just so_ that it hit the still-standing totem pole and collapsed it, cutting off the route he was intending. "Nevermind, just get him!"  
  
As the chase started though, it became clear that the extremely fortuitous shrapnel wasn't a fluke. Soos' legs kept on bumping into things that provoked a domino effect; a rope here brought the six-pack-a-lope down on the twins' heads, a floorboard here sent a shrunken head flying at Wendy's face. Said domino effect never hurt  _Cadwallop,_ though, and in fact he seemed to take on common sense and win on a regular basis during his escape. At one point, Stan managed to trick him into a corridor where the only possible way out was filled with broken glass...and the dwarf just ran straight through said glass, he feet falling only in the clear areas.  
  
It was at that point the Shack started to suspect what Cadwallop's motive was when stealing the actual magical artifact disguised as a fake magical artifact.  
  
Coincidence bending over backwards to help the thieving monster couldn't stop Soos from coming to, however, and so the chase was abruptly ended near the Shack's storage shed with a screwdriver in Cadwallop's funny bone. As the former kidnapper buckled over in pain, his erstwhile mark wiggled free of the dwarf's weakened grip. Exhausted, Soos ran back to his bedraggled friends, breathing heavily. "Dude's  _strong,_ dudes," he gasped. "Haven't felt that easily lifted by somebody since my abuleita still gave me piggy-backs. Probably not even then."  
  
"Yeah...we could tell," gasped Dipper, who was currently supporting his exhausted Grunkle along with the other two younger Shack employees. "That room locked?"  
  
"There's only the one door, dudes. Stan's paranoid about people stealin' his barbecue supplies." Soos shrugged as Cadwallop slunk into said door.  
  
"Good!" Wendy nodded, begining to recover. "Can you help us with Stan then? He was ready to collapse, like, three hazards ago."  
  
Thankfully, exhaustion was all it was. Sooner rather than later, Stan was breathing more easily, and soon after that, rolling back onto his feet and planning the next plan of attack.  
  
"Okay, I'm guessing so long as the Claw has juice in it, the small big jerk in there's gonna be too lucky for us to chase down and catch. Thing is, I doubt if the mystical equivalent of batteries lasts forever, and there's no exits. We just gotta keep him in there until it peters out,  _then_ we grab him."  
  
"So, we're going to lock the door?" Mabel guessed as she got a better weapon (a small plank).  
  
"Smart plan, but unfortunately, that door doesn't have the best lock, and the walls are drywall," Dipper said, wiping off the dirt from journal #3. "If he finds something heavy enough, with that strength of his? He can kick right through the wall if he keeps trying. We've got to keep him from working on that long enough."  
  
"I'll stay back by the door," Wendy said. "I've got the longest and sharpest weapon, he'll be more scared to rush at me. Soos, if you wanna sit this out-"  
  
"Nah, I'm cool dude." Soos said, putting on a football helmet from...somewhere.  
  
"Okay," Stan said, adjusting his own makeshift armor (a group of tied-together totem pole pieces). "One, two-"  
  
On "three" the shack burst in, spears raised and ready for anything.  
  
Except maybe their quarry casually sitting on top of a pile of gas tanks, smiling wickedly.  
  
The Shack's crew quickly regained their composure, banding together in a rough phalanx. "All-right, you vertically-challenged thieving freak," Stan began, raising his cane. "This is your one and only warning. You not only have a piece of my property, but have badly damaged my property in an attempt to kidnap one of my employees after trying to eat a rental exhibit alive. Hand over that thing around your neck, and leave quietly, and  _maybe_ I'll avoid displaying you as the latest attraction. On a pin."  
  
Cadwallop's grin expanded by a couple teeth. "If and when that occurs, can I request a name for that?"  
  
Stan blinked. He knew that tone of voice. He used it whenever one of his cons reached its best possible conclusion.  
  
"The, ahem, Fireproof Hunter."  
  
It was at that point the Shack, contemplating this, realized they had missed something.  
  
The smell of gas.  
  
.. _.Crud._  
  
As the Shack dived, the dwarf held up a hand over a nearby can's valve.  
  
Said hand ignited.  
  
A couple miles away, the gnomes held their ears in pain due to a terrible, ghastly noise.

 

* * *

 

Ringing.  
  
The world was a bell, and it was ringing.  
  
This caliber of observation was all Dipper was capable of at the moment.  
  
His vision, at least, was a little quicker than his ears in rebooting. Probably a little faster than it at first seemed, because the white he had mistaken for an afterimage was, on second glance, actually there.  
  
It was a beam of sunlight, to be precise. Which probably spoke something as to the power of the blast, as the storage room had no windows. Probably  
  
Despite hurting in the everywhere, Dipper was able to slowly brace himself against the wall and look around. Thankfully, the other members of the Shack family, while singed, just seemed dazed and largely immobile.  
  
Unfortunately, Cadwallop was neither of those things.  
  
If the dwarf looked completely unharmed, things would actually be  _less_ surreal. As it was, his breeches were scorched and partially burned off altogether; his clothes weren't made of whatever his species was, apparently. He also appeared to be choking on ash, but, after a couple hard coughs, he regained his composure and normal breathing. The fully-bloomed roses on the Claw had started to wilt, but nothing about it seemed even blackened by the soot.  
  
He opened his mouth, but his voice was distant and quiet. Ear overload, Dipper guessed.  
  
"Job well done. Lovely catches "  
  
As muttered to himself, he pulled out a vial of something with a stopper that, on being removed, turned out to also have a needle attached. A needle with which he quickly pierced each of Dipper's friends and family, then Dipper.  
  
It didn't hurt. It didn't have any sensation at all.  
  
Soon, neither did much of his body. A paralytic poison, Dipper guessed. But why didn't Cadwallop use that in projectiles?  
  
Also,  _what the heck was he planning?_  
  
"...Should get good coup for this," Cadwallop muttered, leaning over Dipper himself, then Mabel. "Maybe even get let in Wild Hunts, finally."  
  
The pyrokinetic dwarf began to pace from human to human, leaning over each as he came to them.  
  
"You two, there's always some worth in a set of twins. You, I don't think you'll pass muster, he doesn't like those near the end of their fates. You, you're a redhead, he likes those, says they're good soothsayers. And you, my chubby arm-stabbing friend...hm…"  
  
Cadwallop jumped on Soos, then proceeded to use his belly as a trampoline for a couple jumps, apparently testing it (and ignoring the wince from the handyman).  
  
"Mostly fat. No small amount of muscle. Hmm."  
  
He drew Soos' wallet from the handyman's pocket after a small search. "Jesus Alzamirano Ramirez," Cadwallop read from the driver's license. "That's a nice name, too."  
  
A small grin came to the dwarf's face as jumped off Soos.  
  
And then drew his knife.  
  
"I don't think they'll mind so much if it's mine."  
  
If anyone could have screamed as the dwarf loped over to Soos neck, they would have.  
  
The dwarf leaned over, revealing a small red dot in the middle of his disfigured head-  
  
Wait, dot?  
  
A peal of what sounded like thunder echoed through the air.  
  
From Soos' perspective, Cadwallop's eyes went wide with shock.  
  
And then blank, shortly before falling backwards, a newfound hole in the back of his head leaking sap, a hole which could be seen by everyone.  
  
All humans present went unconscious again at that, the darkness taking them as a large figure, shadowed and hulking, walked through the hole in the wall.

* * *

  
Dipper awoke to the scent of honey and burning wood.  
  
Given what had just happened before he fell unconscious, he woke up extremely quickly.  
  
Thankfully, the wood was just a bunch of logs in a campfire, not the Shack. In fact, as Dipper's vision cleared, he realized he could see the distinct red of fire trucks out in the distance, along with the familiar brown of the intact Mystery Shack.  
  
Of course, there was also the campfire itself. More specifically, the apparent builder of it.  
  
He was almost certainly the figure he had seen just before he had fallen into unconsciousness, an apparently male humanoid so covered by a large lumberjack's coat, a hood, gloves, and ragged-looking jeans. How he found those was beyond Dipper, as he had to be slightly bigger than Manly Dan himself, though less overtly brawny (although it was hard to tell-again, the coat). The honey smell seemed to be coming from an out-of-place thermos he was apparently slipping.  
  
More startling was the sniper rifle resting at his side, next to an ugly little wooden figurine.  
  
Wincing, Dipper began to slowly rise to his hands and legs without actually alerting the strange figure, a strangely crab-like effort-  
  
The figure froze, his head rising a bit.  
  
"So you are vaking, zen?"  
  
A very thick Russian accent underscored a fittingly deep voice. Busted.  
  
Dipper weighed the benefits of saying absolutely nothing versus confronting this stranger versus getting more information.  
  
Information won out. "Where are my friends?", Dipper managed to wheeze out.  
  
The figure pointed directly behind the boy. Sure enough, the other humans were laid out on various smooth rocks in a small forest clearing.  
  
"I did not bring any of ze creature comforts, and I did not wish robbing you for zem," the figure continued, not facing Dipper. "Sorry."  
  
Dipper eased up slightly, to the extent he could be tense at the moment. "Who are-"  
  
"I am thinking you want having your  _druz'ya_ awake for that, no?" The figure shrugged. "You are having resistance to ze alkonost venom, but I am doubting zey are far behind."  
  
He held out his thermos. " _Sbiten_? Russian cocoa, but has honey, not chocolate."  
  
Dipper shook his head. This guy was at least polite, but he was still a strange gunman who just killed a sapient being.  
  
That was trying to kill Soos, but one didn't lug a sniper rifle around for self-defense.  
  
...Speaking of strange, why was he  _warming_ himself in this heat?  
  
Apparently the stranger could read minds. "Hope you are not minding my fire," the giant said. "I never warm, even in summer month.  _In particular_ in summer month."  
  
Okay. Weird, but logical.  
  
In a few minutes, every other member of the Shack was coughing and propping themselves up on their rocks. And attempting to scurry off before the figure held up his gloved hand.  
  
"So, thinking introduction is being in order." The giant finally turned around, revealing his face…  
  
To be under a ski mask. Either he was  _really_ cold at all times, or someone really wanted to hide his identity. Or both.  
  
"Please, be calling me Ved. I am the one to be helping you with your Teihiihan problem."  
  
Ved paused, apparently expecting a thank you.  
  
"...You  _killed_ him," Mabel replied, flatly.  
  
Ved shrugged. "In sense."  
  
"In, in a  _sense?_ " Mabel actually looked like she might attack him, even given her less-than-mobile state. "Buster, there's not a lot of variation between _making someone dead._  He's  _dead,_ because-"  
  
"He vas only half-alive beginning with."  
  
Mabel blinked. "Sorry?"  
  
The giant moved the figurine in front of him.  
  
The figurine that looked to be a perfect representation of Cadwallop's corpse. With bullet wound.  
  
Stan caught on first. "...That's his actual body, isn't it."  
  
"No soul, no meat corpse. So is for all hobgoblins in human world. Make own job easier."  
  
Mabel blinked. On the one hand, soul or no soul, he had a mind…  
  
But on the other, he  _was_  killed in the middle of trying to murder Soos after he tried to eat a monkey alive. So maybe the morality of the action was a bit vague here.  
  
"Wait,  _human world?_ Are you saying that's an  _alien?_ " Dipper's voice had returned to normal, which really helped in getting over the sheer confusion in his tone.  
  
"In sense. Hobgoblin. Least fairy, native to borderlands of fae world."  
  
Wendy got up, unsteadily. "...Fairy?  _That's_ a fairy!?"  
  
"Disney and Victorian writers have much answering to do." Ved shoved the wooden corpse away from him. "Is old-time fairy. Mischievous and alien best, child thieves and storybook monsters worst. For Teihiihan's case, hunting men for food and sport. Take names of prey zey are most proud of."  
  
It didn't take long before the implications of this particular tradition sunk in. Soos weighed the benefits of fainting dead away once more, while his friends began regretting eating, ever.  
  
"...Leaving that aside," Stan interjecting after he finished retching, "What's it matter to you? Don't get me wrong, you saved all our lives, and you have the rare prize of my genuine gratitude, but you don't haul a sniper rifle around because you think it really completes the 'mysterious wanderer' look."  
  
"Nice work on that, by the way," Mabel added. "Do you have any notes on where you got that coat? I think I can make it work for a girl-thank you!" she ended as Ved wordlessly showed her a brand tag under his hood.  
  
" _Pozhaluysta_ ," the giant replied. "To you, Barnumist old man; vas hunting his tribe. Attacked my Court."  
  
"Your...court?" Dipper said, trying to remember something that might put this in context. Court was generally referring to a collection of aristocrats and their retainers, so maybe this guy was either a knight or-wait, who would have knights in the modern day? Or whatever the Russian equivalent-  
  
"This wouldn't happen to be, say, the  _Seelie_ Court, dude?" Soos interrupted. "I read it in a fanfic once that fae divide themselves into courts of good and evil, and I figure some guy who goes around hunting fairies might be kind of like that one series,  _Found Boy._  A policeman fae, only more viol-actually, now that I think about it, maybe a policeman fae, period."  
  
Ved stood silently for a few minutes, before shrugging. " _Nyet._ I am not member of Seelie Court."  
  
Then, suddenly, he pulled off his mask. "Seelies are Irish institution."  
  
The face under the mask looked...furry. Broad, flat, and slightly misshapen (as if it was beaten into shape by a hammer taken to a more normal face), but very furry. Brown fur that, strangely, actually seemed to grow out from and  _into_ his mouth as well. While his eyes weren't nearly as inhuman as the living Cadwallop's had been (in fact, they were a quite nice shade of brown), his right was a lot larger than the other, to the point where one would be forgiven for thinking that he only had the one.  
  
It also gave the shack a chance to tell his expression was one of mild discomfort. "Forgive manners for second," the giant said shortly before opening his mouth and extending his tongue. His very _furry_ tongue.  
  
The Shack got the sense they should be more weirded out by this than they were. After living in Gravity Falls, though, discovering a good Samaritan was a giant-in-the-actually-a-Russian-yeti sense wasn't even that  _surprising._  
  
Said tongue also seemed to have caught a bit of ski mask wool on it, and after the offending thread was removed, Ved returned to his former, relaxed position. "Should probably learn to shave that, but... _is tongue._ "  
  
Everyone winced at that.  
  
After the spectre of shaver blades near a rather sensitive organ passed, however, the tide came in.  
  
"Back up: Fae world?"  
  
"Why did I have anything fae wanted in my possession?"  
  
"Know any hot, tween-ish elf-boys not adverse to humans?"  
  
"You know any cobbler elves dude? I could really use some help with my sneakers."  
  
Ved rose his arms. " _Please! Pozhaluista_ , one at time!"  
  
Everyone rose their arms, but Stan was a bit quicker. "Like I said, how the heck did I end up with anything the fae wanted, and why did it look so normal?"  
  
"Is zis?" asked Ved as he pulled the Cursed Claw of Crowowlar, now looking like a normal toy again, out of his pants pocket. "I have  _nyet_  clue as vhy you have it, but I can tell is powerful Token. Fae magic item, protected by Mask zat make it seem...not magic."  
  
"Oh. Well, how much are you willing to pay?"  
  
" _Kakoi?_ "  
  
"Well, you've seen the damages that thief caused." Stan shrugged. "I'm already going to need a loan as is, I really think that having it is kind of a stupid idea if any others-"  
  
"Hold for second. Need phrasing being correct"  
  
Ved silently mouthed some words in English before clearing his throat.  
  
"Magic for magic, service for service. As you have bestowed your bounty on me, I shall give my bounty on you. May fate erase all trials caused to you and yours by my former lords and their minions, as this item eases all trials that I suffer. Should one violate the property and trust of the other, may winter give him trials sevenfold."  
  
The giant held out a hand.  
  
It didn't take very long at all for Stan to realize this had something to do with fae hocus pocus.  
  
Given the contracts he made and read in the past, the spoken terms seemed...fair, if vague. "...The 'violation' bit includes any trials cause by you in the future, yes? And it will prevent future robbery by your, eh, former lords?"  
  
" _Da._ Is little bonus, because former lords are…" Ved shivered. "...bad."  
  
"Deal," Stan said as he took the gloved hand.  
  
And felt a very cold wind suddenly curl around his hand as they shook. With a yelp, Stan withdrew his hand.  
  
_Inside_ his hand was a lottery ticket, lightly dusted with snowflakes. A lottery ticket that was already scratched, revealing a perfect win.  
  
"Should pay for damages and lost time, I am thinking."  
  
Stan promptly decided that old-time fae were pretty awesome.  
  
Wendy held up a hand. "Whoa whoa. Can I go next?"  
  
" _Da._ "  
  
"What was that about saying you were pursuing this jerk's... _tribe?_ "  
  
The mood immediately soured when the others were reminded of that. There were  _more_ of these things?  
  
"Is true. Zey mass here, wood useful for garrison outside fae borderlands."  
  
It took absolutely no time at all for a thousand horrible scenarios for what a bunch of  _other_ psychotic warriors with a cannibalistic streak a mile wide would do to the denizens of the town and forest to occur to the humans.  
  
"...We're going to help you," Dipper began. "We'll take a short break, buy up supplies, find a posse or something-"  
  
"You can't," Ved interjected.  
  
...Huh? "Why not?" Mabel said, raising an eyebrow. "I said I liked the  _look_ , not that you had to be, because being a mysterious wanderer is not only lonely, but kind of stupid-"  
  
"I know is dumb," Ved began. "But I…"  
  
The giant inhaled. "Interesting tidbit for fae pacts. Is not metaphorical when I say what punishment for breaking will be, if old man or I try to cheat terms directly, winter-themed bad things will occur to rule-breaker."  
  
"Er, yeah, but I don't see...how…" Dipper trailed off as the implication of Ved's words presented themselves.  
  
"...Somebody made you swear to do this alone," the boy finished.  
  
"Is neither confirmed nor denied," Ved replied, his attention apparently elsewhere.  
  
Mabel narrowed her eyes. "Well, can you at least tell the forest monsters how to defend themselves? And the rest of the town? Come to think of it, why can't you just walk up to that somebody and ask-"  
  
"Excuse rudeness, but must recite loyalty pledge." Ved cleared his throat, inhaling. "'Is duty to human and Lost alike zat the Strangers do not gain further interest in world, is the duty of Sheriff to silence knowledge unneeded by those we protect from Arcadia's hungers, and is  _not_ the place of the Sheriff to decide what knowledge is needed'..." he finished, looking intently to the Shack.  
  
"...And they've sworn you to secrecy as  _well_ dude!?" Soos looked outright disbelieving. "Boy, I think you should probably come work for us someday, at least Mr. Pines just keeps his cloak-and-dagger stuff to himself."  
  
Stan shrugged, looking slightly sheepish.  
  
"Is neither confirmed nor denied." The giant made his way over to a placid pool, using a bucket to quench the fire. "Will say one thing zat is defined as 'needed' though."  
  
Ved looked directly at the Shack's employees, intent and serious.  
  
"Don't go to Bishopgate."  
  
With that, he waved his hand over the pond, causing it to freeze into a reflective mirror. He then proceeded to hoist up Cadwallop's remains, then to tap on the surface three times using his foot.  
  
Wendy's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, isn't that the old mental asylum with those weird-"  
  
She was cut off when the pool  _unfolded._  
  
Where before there was a small, mirror like puddle of a pool, there was now a bunch of thick, green vines covered with giant thorns reaching out into the world, surrounding what appeared to be a starcase down into someplace green and sunlit.  
  
Before anyone could get in a word in edgewise, the giant descended into the pool-portal, the wooden corpse and sniper rifle in tow, looking for all the world like he was descending into the Underworld.  
  
As the top of his head cleared the portal, the vines folded in, and then it was just a pool again, already starting to melt in the summer heat.  


 

* * *

**Next Time: Going To Bishopgate**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the five of you WoD fans that didn't figure it out yet; yep, it's a Changeling: the Lost crossover.
> 
> Well that, and Hunter: the Vigil, but everyone who actually looks for mysteries is already crossing over. I could make a Gravity Falls alone fic and call it a crossover in that case.


	3. Chapter 2: Going to Bishopgate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the history of a certain mental hospital is brought up as a reason to avoid it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any lorehounds of the nWoD, here's my first big break with the canon: The location of Bishopgate!
> 
> Also, there was a fan theory I had that was invalidated by A Tale of Two Stans! Can you spot the retcon patch job?

Sheriff Blubs, for all of his (many) faults as a police officer, was not stupid enough to think that an explosion was not a police matter to investigate, particularly when it involved a disappearance of four employees of the exploded business He was, however, dumb enough to get Deputy Durland to walk next to him while covering ground. Ergo, the "missing" persons ended up having to do a wide-angled search for the two-man police force of Gravity Falls (minus even less active cops who had a strangely long-lasting supply of sick days) after dragging themselves out of the woods and finding their car. Not something that improved any of their moods, given the post-unconsciousness migraines most of them had.  
  
From there, it was to the police station, mostly because there was only so much hiking Blubs could do in a day sans donuts, and they needed to give a statement anyway.  
  
In the middle of their statement, both Blubs and Durland got another donut.  
  
"So, let me get this straight," Blubs muttered, rubbing his own forehead. "You had an angry dwarf attack you."  
  
"That's what we said."  
  
"After he tried to eat a monkey."  
  
"You got it, dude."  
  
"And this has nothing to do with your brother?"  
  
Stan rose an eyebrow. "Er, I don't see what that has to do with Stan-"  
  
"Because there's too much stuff that's happening!" Blubs said throwing up his arms. "First, we learn that you have a six-fingered twin brother for whom McGucket was his lab assistant, then suddenly weird stuff starts happening all the time, including being attacked by giant bats and  _something_ going on at the Northwest mansion, then suddenly all these clocks keep on going wrong and I have this huge blow-up with Steve about missing his attempting to break the record for largest thing swallowed whole-I can't even keep the order of events straight! You okay there Deputy?"  
  
Durland, for his part, had taped an ice bag to his head as soon as the Cursed Claw of Crowowlon was mentioned. "Please don't remind me, one headache's enough."  
  
Blubs tossed a set of earplugs to Durland. "Point is, is there  _any_ way to make this a little easier to follow? Discovering that your brother owes money to someone with a lot of minions from a distant, vaguely pulp-inspired island temple where monkeys are considered a delicacy, maybe?"  
  
And for a while, there was no speech. None of the five had any idea what to say.  
  
Not that they needed to say anything, because the silence was broken by Manly Dan Corduroy bursting in through the door, leaving a silhouette of himself behind. There was a brief squeak of surprise as he wrapped his arms around his daughter, blubbering as relieved parents do.  
  
Soos' Abuelita was not far behind. Her embrace of the handyman was not nearly as all-encompassing as Dan's was, but if anything even  _tighter._  " _Ay dios mio!_ I came as soon as I heard-is my teddy bear alright?"  
  
"All dudes here are a-okay, Abuelita," Soos replied, seeming as chipper as ever. "I also now know what it's like to live as a civilian in a superhero movie. People should really write about that more, it's interesting."  
  
"Oh  _sweetie!_ I'm so overjoyed-"  
  
"I'm not!" Dan had apparently regained his composure, and was now glowering at Stan (and it was a testament to Stan's composure that his main reaction was turning white as a bleached sheet). "What the  _heck_ were you up to!?"  
  
Stan gulped. "W-Well, there was this exhibit-"  
  
"An  _EXHIBIT!?_ "  
  
"Not a bomb! Or anything that looked like-"  
  
"Then  _WHAT!?_  I let Wendy stay here because it was  _SAFER_ than the Junior Lumberjack Scouts! Now you're dealing with-"  
  
"Dad, calm down! Nobody here's at fault!"  
  
"Then  _WHAT IS!?"_ Manly Dan nearly screamed. "PERSON, THING, PLACE, I DON'T CARE WHAT NOUN IT IS, I WANT SOMETHING I CAN  _PUNCH_ FOR PUTTING-"  
  
"The thing that caused it is dead!" Dipper blurted out.  
  
There was a long pause as Dan's brain cooled off to fully process this information. "...Oh. What was it then?"  
  
"A crazy dwarf that tried to eat a monkey, then Soos," Wendy replied, flatly.  
  
There was a longer pause as both parents' brains tried to find a place to begin processing that.  
  
"...Is anybody else expecting jerks in red hoodies to show up now?" Dan muttered as he massaged his neck. "Something doesn't feel...complete, almost."  
  
Soos' Abuelita glanced at the car. "Should we go to  _mi_ house for this? This sounds like something that requires cookies."  
  
"Are you okay with abnormally flat donuts?"  
  


* * *

  
"...You're kidding, right?"  
  
"Nope, he was bigger than you, from what I could tell," Dipper replied, still thumbing through the journal #3. "Of course, it could have been the coat. Guy said he gets cold in warm weather, don't know how thick that thing was."  
  
"I'm more concerned about the sniper rifle," Blubs replied, brow furrowed. "Guns without permits tend to draw state inspections, and those are never fun."  
  
"...You were audited and you kept your job?", Wendy asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Durland looked down. "There's a reason he lives in my house. And why the DA was impeached."  
  
"I know  _exactly_  how you feel," a sympathetic Stan replied.  
  
"... _Annny_ way," Wendy began, looking nervous, "we got to talking, and we discover two things; one, Cadwallop was apparently a goblin, a literal fairy-I think he called them, er, Teihiihan. Been searching for them on my phone, but it's slow out here and I think I keep spelling it-"  
  
"Got you covered," Dipper interjected, pointing to an UV-lit page of a sour-looking humanoid that may have been Cadwallop's rustic twin (seeing as how the things piercing  _the picture's_ skin all looked to be invented before plastics).  
  
The title wasn't 'Teihiihan' though, although that word was present. The  _real_ title was 'Cannibal Dwarf.'"  
  
There was a bit of a long pause as the adults (aside from Stan) fully processed that situation  
  
"...Ya think they just got off on the wrong foot?" Durland asked, hopefully.  
  
"Unfortunately, no. These guys aren't gnomes, and by the looks of it aren't even related apart from being short humanoids," Dipper said, angling the UV light to expose more. "Apparently they were real big enemies of Native American tribes who lived just east of where Idaho is now; their species names, plural, were appropriated from said tribes, Teihiihan being Arapaho for 'strong'. They think that it's normal to be born nameless and take the name of people or animals you're most proud of eating."  
  
A shiver ran through the room.  
  
"From what it says here, everything in the Teihiihan culture revolves around hunting," Dipper continued. "The author says that the only ones he's ever encountered are pursuing prey, going in for the kill, or eating the catch. He also says that there's no real stories of permanent Teihiihan settlements in any legend, just temporary camps, and the tribes never had any stories of negotiating with them, just protecting themselves, or tricking the Teihiihan into exposing their weak points or leaving the people alone. Even he says he was really lucky that the ones he met didn't think twelve fingers were that special."  
  
"...Say, didn't he come back after that crashed expedition to the Isles o' Wrath?" Blubs interjected. "Maybe we could ask the man directly."  
  
It took the Shack's employees a second to remember why Ford was currently called Grandpa L instead of, well, Ford. "Um, yeah. We could, but my brother spent several decades in an alter- _an impossible-to-navigate_ section of the Pacific _._ Cell phones are a bit too new for him to buy one yet, so I can't contact him except by snail mail." Internally, Stan scolded himself for nearly forgetting his cover story in front of two cops. He didn't need criminal charges on top of being reduced to drifter-dom again when the summer ended.  
  
"...Yeah, that's right," Dipper followed up. "While it'd be nice to bring our, uh, long-vanished adventurer grandfather in on this, it'd probably take too long to find him, and besides, he's stressed enough trying to catch up with the rest of the world."  
  
Soos' Abuelita nodded. "I share his pain every time I see a new smartphone."  
  
"Okay, back to the story," Mabel continued, standing up. "So, I was really mad at Ved, because, evil cannibal or not, that guy was a  _person..._ except he really wasn't, because he turned back into wood before I woke up, so I  _guess_ they're more like robots. I hope," she amended.  
  
"So, then we finally learn that Ved's, I don't know, the giant fae equivalent to some kind of bounty hunter, and that Cadwallop had hurt his queen or something," Wendy began. "Then-"  
  
"And then he promised to help out with the Shack seeing as how he accidentally chased the guy into my property and...that's it," Stan interrupted.  
  
Not as subtly as he had hoped, however. Everyone looked at the great Mr. Mystery quizzically.  
  
"What? You heard the guy, that's pretty much the way it's gonna be."  
  
"...Mr. Pines, what about trying to talk his way around-"  
  
"I said, you heard the guy."  
  
"Grunkle Stan, he was also nice enough to give you that-"  
  
"I  _said_ that's the way it's gonna be."  
  
Dipper's brow furrowed. "Grunkle...is this about that-"  
  
"YES!" Stan shouted, making everyone jump. "The world isn't a pulp short story where going to the former lairs of real life  _mad scientists_  still inhabited by crazy people after it turns out somethin' _supernatural_ is goin' down results in anyone survivin' or not wishin' they hadn't!"  
  
One could cut the tension in the air with a knife.  
  
Slowly, Stan winced and brought a hand to his face. "And now you're gonna go no matter what I say, aren't you?"  
  
Dipper slowly opened his mouth.  
  
"...Wait just a little minute," Soos Abuelita cut in, her already faded complexion paling. "Are we speaking of... _Bishopgate?_ "  
  
"...Um, yes? I don't see why it's that scary-"  
  
"You have NO IDEA!" Manly Dan said, eyes widened. "That...HELLHOLE should not even be SPOKEN OF!"  
  
"Dad, what's with the-"  
  
"We've said too much already!" Blubs put a wary hand on his taser, eyes darting furtively around. "Anyone who says  _anything_ concrete in this room about...certain medical institutions is going to spend tonight in prison."  
  
"Guys, guys! Why's everyone so scared? All I hear about the place are those saints on the-"  
  
"Ya mean the doors meant to keep the evil  _in!?_ " Durland countered. "All the bad vibes and potential ghosts of all those who died in  _serial lobotomies!?_ "  
  
There was yet another moment of silence.  
  
Wordlessly, Durland placed a pair of handcuffs around his wrists and shuffled off to a cell as Blubs glared at him.  
  
"...Okay,  _what!?_ " Dipper held up a hand. "Look, can someone tell me exactly  _what_ went on there, and  _why_ is everyone so scared of it?"  
  
The adults, minus Soos, looked at Blubs. "...Fine. Just don't talk about in in this police station, I don't want to jinx it more than it already is."  
  
Everyone nodded, and made their way out the front door. Once on the sidewalk, Stan turned around to face Dan and the Abuelita.  
  
"Want me to-"  
  
"Be our guest,  _amigo._ "  
  
"You brought it up, you get to suffer."  
  
"Okay." Stan turned back to the still-ignorant residents of the town, who were starting to wonder if maybe the prohibition against talking about Bishopgate was well-advised if  _Dan_ was too chicken to talk about it.  
  
"Kids? And Soos? Ya ever hear of how bad early mental medicine was? Back when we didn't have therapists, or actual diagnoses, or even just the idea that  _maybe_ we should ensure if we're tossing a mentally...different person in a cell to be forgotten about, it should at least be a  _nice_ cell where they can live in peace, instead treating them like animals at a zoo?"  
  
Dipper felt a growing pit at the bottom of his stomach, as Mabel turned a little green.  
  
"...Bishopgate's a relic of that time, isn't it?"  
  
"Not quite. Bishopgate Asylum's the place where, back in the day, those same zoos of the insane  _looked down on._  And I can tell you, that place today isn't that much better, but that's besides the point. If it were just a horrible place to find sanity, it'd just be ignored by the townsfolk and everyone would avoid. The  _fear_ most people here have of it though…"  
  
"Actually, we probably need to stop by Soos' place. I suspect you're going to need some of that tea his gram makes to sit through the story of Doctors Matthew Gorlay and Jeremiah Moorcock, and I'm gonna need a couple props. But to prepare you; the latter is known today for treating everything, from depression to migraines, with a lobotomy, cutting off the frontal lobes from the rest of the brain so a person can't really  _think_ any more. Of the two, he was the  _nice_ doctor."  
  


* * *

  
The tea was a special recipe of Soos' Abuelita, Well, to the extent anything that partially came in an easy-make box (just add water, leave on stove) could be the recipe of anyone who bought it, but she customized it in a pretty skillful way.  
  
It was certainly good for calming nausea and nerves. Probably why what had to be the world's largest pot was sitting conveniently on the table, given the subject of the matter.  
  
"So kids," Stan began, attempting to smile. "Where do we start?"  
  
"How it was built," Dipper said, tea at the ready. "The journal says all fae tend to lair around locations symbolically significant to begin with, and if we're fending off Native American cannibal goblins, I'd  _really_ like to know if the problem's deeper than either of the doctors."  
  
"As much as I would love to be actually skeptical of that point, it wouldn't be surprising." Stan leaned back in his chair. "Let's start off the fact that the place was built on a, no joke, Indian burial ground."  
  
Wendy spat out her tea. "S-seriously!? That cliche actually happens!?"  
  
"Well, not as much as the old movies would have you believe, but it does, and in my years safeguarding the Shack, I've learned that the guys who didn't watch those flicks often get their butts kicked by angry postmortem owners.  
  
"But here's the thing-back when it was still considered safe to talk about the place, I did some digging to see what kind of exhibits I could make in the name of the place, and I discovered something very interesting; what we today think of burial mounds? Yeah, people who made them didn't live around Oregon, not generally. So it's entirely possible the place was built on something that  _looked_ like a burial mound, but was actually something the natives wanted to get rid of."  
  
"Yeah, I'm looking that mound up right now," Wendy said, her phone out. "The Greater Chawkamas Area Mound, it's called-lot of historian dudes are really confused by it. Wait, here's something," she said as she hit the zoom key a couple times, "Apparently the Would-Be Cabinet of Dr. Caligari over there isn't the first time someone's had the bright idea to build something on there. It's never worked out."  
  
"Never worked out is an understatement. I hear the Spaniards that first settled there started a small war against the local Chinook to force them to take their land back after the fourth flood in three months. That's what convinced me to stay far, far away from the place if I wanted to live, but I'm digressin'. Point is, something was wrong with that land long before Bishopgate came, and neither of its most infamous residents helped."  
  
"So anyway," Stan continued, "Bishopgate itself, or at least the East Wing, is actually a converted mansion-used to belong to some Lousiana guy, I think his name was Teesdale or somethin' weird like that. After he died, some two-bit big city idiot named Dr. Hopper came along, bought the whole place for a dollar without wonderin' why, and turn the darn place into a general hospital. Then the Civil War broke out, and it ended up being a veteran's hospital for four years despite Hopper loudly arguin' with them every other week. Apart from that, everythin' seemed to be going okay, barrin' some poor Union guys who had horrible nightmares involving, and I quote, 'the devil himself had put the sky to the torch and stolen our names,' then around 1870, something goes wrong."  
  
"Angry Indian ghosts possessed all the soldiers who ever stayed there and tried to eat everyone's brains?" Soos guessed. "'Cause there was this movie I saw once-"  
  
"Not anythin' so blatant. Though that'd probably be less creepy." Stan sipped the tea. "See, around the Fall of 1870, Hopper suddenly vanishes from the county for a while, leaving a guy named Cave in his place. A few months later, Hopper comes back-and get this, his hair's white as snow after it's been bleached."  
  
Mabel rose a hand. "Um, Grunkle, I really don't wanna upset anyone, but how old was he? I mean, hair losing it's color isn't-"  
  
"41, actually. And he wasn't even  _going grey._ "  
  
"Oh. Maybe he just aged badly-not like you or Abuelita, of course."  
  
"Yeah, that's what I was thinkin' too. But here's another thing-he doesn't take his job back from Cave. Not officially, but when Cave's really going into the work of turning Bishopgate into a full asylum, even having a system for how good you'll be treated on the basis of how much you paid him, Hopper's completely unable to speak up. In fact, Hopper doesn't even offer his own opinions anymore, he just goes along with whatever Cave says. Now, I'm all for friendship, but somebody's gotta disagree  _someday._ Particularly when ya spent four years of your life  _fighting_ authority to get your business back."  
  
"Now, things start gettin' a little weirder for Bishopgate from there on, a little creepier. First, some horse spooks for reasons nobody has any idea about and tramples Cave to death. Then, Hopper dies of a heart attack. The next director, a guy named Brake, rebuilds and upgrades the place after some fire nearly burns it down, but as soon as it's completed he tells the crew to seal off the new sub-basement he was really pushin' before. Then he's found...you might wanna have tea ready for this one...with a new, ahem,  _killer_ necktie."  
  
Dipper paled a bit. "...are you saying he  _hanged himself!?_ "  
  
"Maybe? I dunno. Could be the ghosts decided to reenact the Old West to see what it was like from the other guys' side, if it really  _is_ a burial ground." Stan gulped the remainder of his tea before a quick refill. "Anyway, just seemingly mundane oogie boogie going on, director after that guy got strangled by a patient-then around 1920, Farnsworth Weaver comes along. Tell me, does that name sound familiar for any medicine?"  
  
There was brief silence before Soos' raised his hand. "Oh, oh! I know! Weaver, as in those dudes who make that hand soap. How's the jingle-Oh yeah!  _Herme-Clean, sick ain't your scene-_ "  
  
"No no no no NO! If I hear that song again I'm gonna need brain surgery to get it out!" Wendy cut in, pulling her cap over her ears.  
  
"You should have heard what  _I_ came up with! I specifically got a loan to research-sorry, bit of nostalgia there." Stan cleared his throat. "Anyway, Weaver decides that since the place is nearly broke, he might as well buy it out, make it into a place for his company to start makin' inroads into psych research. Except he wasn't a doctor, he just inherited a company which had a lot of them on payroll."  
  
"So,  _that's_  where Dr. Matthew Gorlay comes in, as the new head of Medicine-slash-actual head shrink. If that name sounds kind of like a horror movie villain, he lived down to it. I can swear on authority there was somethin'  _off_ with Dr. Gorlay."  
  
Stan inhaled a bit. "First, you have to understand; Gorlay didn't seem that bad by the standards of the day. Back then, eugenics was the order of the day. For future reference kids, that's treating people like breedin' dogs; you find the qualities you want and let those guys have kids to pass on those traits and preventing the rest from doing so."  
  
Mabel furrowed her brow. "That's kinda...cold, isn't it? Treating people you can talk to like pets?"  
  
"Oh,  _you have no idea._  But back in the day, it was considered  _humane_ to the human race to ensure future generations would have less genetic diseases. It didn't really work out, both because what you get from your parents isn't the end-all be-all, and that pretty soon led to people thinkin' that people who didn't look like them were problems that needed to be solved-see World War 2 for where _that_ kind of thinkin' leads. But this was ten years before the Nazis even got power in the first place, and twenty years before they decided what they really wanted was to conquer the world. So when the doctor approaches his boss with the idea of making it so that the really ill patients, the ones who end up scribbling on the walls at best, can't have children? Nobody, and I mean  _nobody,_ blinks an eye."  
  
Soos felt a growing pit at the bottom of his stomach. "This is gonna be like one of those movies where it turns out he turns out to doin' mad science to his patients, isn't it boss?"  
  
"Well, given how he died before most of those movies came out? He could be considered a real pioneer in the field of horrifyin' surgery." Stan took another large gulp. "See, when one of his patients with Down syndrome-that's this really nasty type of genetic brain damage-died of brain bleedin' when Dr. Gorlay was out on a lecture tour, they brought in this other doctor, Werner, as a coroner. What he found was that the guy had been operated on  _fourteen times in the year before._ What killed him was Gorlay messing up a  _second lobotomy_."  
  
There was a long silence after that, punctuated only by tea being gulped down.  
  
"..So, that cheerful fact having come to light, Werner looks further into Gorlay's notes, and discovers he'd been involved directly in the deaths of over  _300_ patients, and another 150 were permanently injured so by him mucking around in their bodies. It's not pretty what he'd been doing to them either. Organ swaps, nerve cutting, electric shocks-it's like he viewed the asylum as his personal playground. And here's another thing; Weaver was in on it!"  
  
"...Please tell me Gorlay was lying to him," Dipper said, looking queasy.  
  
"I wish! I wouldn't put the idea he was being blackmailed out of mind, but it's more likely Weaver saw the fact that his doctor didn't really do things without purpose. He made a lot of discoveries in his day, lot of breakthroughs-which meant more prestige for his boss, and more prestige means more money. Of course, it also turns out Weaver broke the first and only real rule of business;  _never steal money from your own company._  When the story broke, Weaver was thrown in the slammer and Gorlay followed him. He died pretty soon after that-couldn't stand being disgraced."  
  
Stan paused for a short while after that, which Soos' Abuelita took to refill the tea-and not coincidentally, to allow Stan's audience to use the bathroom.  
  
After the Shack's employees returned, Stan began again, inhaling deeply to steel himself. "Right, after Gorlay got booted out, Bishopgate basically sits bankrupt and empty for a few years until Weaver kicks the bucket just before World War 2 starts up. Dr. Werner, not having gotten another job during the Great Depression, decides that hey, you can always try again, and buys it in the bank auction, since Weaver didn't have any heirs-guy hated his cousins. Werner sits on it for a few years, sprucin' it up, until just after Germany surrenders, and he repurposes it as a veteran's hospital again. He doesn't do half-bad, and he makes some real big strides towards treating combat stress successfully, even got the Key to the City from Gravity Falls and a medal from the Army. And then: He retires."  
  
"I'm gonna take a guess here and say that's where the other mad scientist dude was hired," Soos said, looking unfazed.  
  
"Got it in one, Soos. Yep, Dr. Jeremiah 'Jerry' Moorcock, and even before he retired Werner smelled a nutcase. The only reason he became the director was that the trustees (those are basically the hospital's fund managers) thought his credentials looked shiny. So, anyway, Moorcock goes back to the bad old days and turns Bishopgate back into an insane asylum, and while he's nowhere near as nasty as Gorlay was on a good day, he's one of the more callous people Bishopgate ever had as a director. And of course, the fact he was one of the last great lobotomizers; Wendy, look up a girl named Allison Purchase sometime."  
  
"Way ahead of you," she muttered as she hit the 'enter' button on her phone. "Says that she was at the center of a scandal that Wikipedia says was one of the really big things that turned people off on cutting out bits of other people's brains."  
  
"And a good example of why you don't do drugs, kids," Stan tried to laugh. "See, Purchase was completely and utterly normal, she just overdosed on this thing called LSD. She was sent to Bishopgate because her parents were too far in denial to realize that they drove her to use drugs and convinced themselves she was having a nervous breakdown or somethin'. When the LSD wore off and she realized she was in a padded room, she freaked out and tore up her cell, at which point Moorcock, being too darn lazy to bother checking if someone is actually crazy or not, assumes she's untreatable and.." Stan made a pair of scissors with his right hand and mimed cutting at something behind his forehead.  
  
"...That's  _awful,_ " both of the twins said simultaneously. Wendy and Soos said nothing, but their expressions made clear they thought the same thing.  
  
"Did he at least feel bad about it?" Mabel continued, now looking quite ill.  
  
"Actually yeah, he did. Didn't stop him from fending off a lawsuit or not cutting forebrains. They say Allison spent the rest of her life there, unable to take care of herself without part of her mind. But that's where Bishopgate starts to get creepy again." Stan leaned forward. "Just over a year later, Jerry finishes his day, bids his assistants bye...and when they come back half an hour later,  _Jerry's had his forebrain cut._ "  
  
For a moment, nobody said anything, though that had more to do with a strange rattling that, on further examination, turned out to be the otherwise silent Abuelita's own cup trembling against a plate. "Sorry," she almost-whispered. "First time I hear this. I knew  _something_ had happened, but... _dios mio._ "  
  
"Don't blame ya. Trustees tried to keep  _that_ part of the story on the hush-hush. Didn't want any scandals from any investigations, if you ask me." Stan cleared his throat. "Anyway, when Moorcock wakes up, it turns out he's reacted in a pretty strange way to; while most people with their forebrains cut kinda become like full-grown babies, Moorcock's still quite capable of talkin' and doing complex tasks. Thing is, he doesn't talk so much as  _rave._ He spends all day muttering about 'angels in the moon' and how God's gonna make everything a utopia or somethin'-which is even weirder, because, before the lobotomy, Moorcock was an outspoken  _atheist_. He  _hated_ the very concept of doomsday, thought people used it as an excuse to avoid doin' anything to make the world a better place. After he's found, he can preach about the end of the world with the best of 'em."  
  
"Of course, he can't run an asylum if he sounds like one of the patients, so he gets shipped off somewhere east. Might be there still, for all I know." Stan let out a breath. "Anyway, that's the history lesson on Bishopgate. It's remained pretty miserable from there on, there was even a murder there by a director at one point-but it's all mundane misery, far as I can see. Up until now, at any rate."  
  
There was a final draining of the tea cups, followed by all present making sure they didn't need to use the restroom for more than just bladder overcapacity. When the test came up a negative, Dipper was the first to break the silence. "Okay, that aside...why did Blubs say he didn't want people talking about it near him? That kind of scared isn't due to history, not alone."  
  
"You know, if my employees keep on figuring out where I'm going to go with these things, part of me wonders if I even  _need_ to say anything. You'd be right of course-the latest weird thing to come out of that place was four years ago."  
  
With that, Stan pulled out a tape recorder from his back pocket. "I specifically made this to convince myself I wasn't goin' crazy myself."  
  
With that, he pressed play.  
  
While the simple nature of cassette tapes made the contents grainy, all attending could definitely make out a faint, quiet noise like ruffling papers and adjusting chairs. After a few seconds of that there was a male voice humming to itself, shortly before a sigh.  
  
"Allison," said the voice, a soft tone with a distinct East Coast accent, "We can't have you talking nonsense. If you keep on with this, we're going to have to take more drastic measures. Do you want that?"  
  
The recording ended with a quiet click. "And before you ask," Stan said, putting down the player as far away from him as he could reach, "After that happened I buzzed by the library's computer to listen to a recording of pre-surgery Jerry Moorcock. That's him alright."  
  
The eyes of everyone else in the room went wide as saucers.  
  
"Basically, what happened was that for a month or so, anyone who talked about Bishopgate got that on their answerin' machine or something similar; Abuelita got a letter containing some of Gorlay's notes about a guy who literally couldn't be quiet, Dan got a sign on the door of that shed of his sayin' 'MANIC, DO NOT ENGAGE IN CONVERSATION'-basically, if ya said anything, you were told in a roundabout way to clam up. It stopped after about a month, but up until then there was so much of it even those Blind Eye jerks you told me about probably couldn't keep up. Really, it fed on itself, kinda-people kept on wonderin' why they got those threats when they talked about Bishopgate, so they decided to swap opinions about the place just to see for themselves. At the end of the month, Blubs decided to hold a public speech about it to see what would happen if he  _really_ defied the threat."  
  
"...Wait," Wendy began, eyes widening even further. "Are you saying...that Durland-"  
  
"Nah, he's always been like that," Stan cut in, much to his cashier's relief. "But that doesn't change the fact that he had some slides prepared, but the first picture got replaced by…" Stan pulled out a photograph. "This."  
  
A brief pause. And then;  
  
"AAAAAGH!"  
  
"MY EYES! MY POOR, CUTE EYES!"  
  
"BOSS, WHY DID YOU HAVE TO SHOW THAT!?"  
  
"I DESERVE HAZARD PAY FOR THAT."  
  
"Sorry, but it was probably the best way to show you." Mercifully, Stan threw the offending photo on the fire. "Suffice to say, Dr. Gorlay could be a real creep at times."  
  
"So anyway, from that day on, pretty much everybody who was there, which means pretty much everyone affected by the month-long curse, swore not to speak of it lest it escalate further into someone getting hurt. I think there's probably someone more earthly that was doin' the threats given how they never happened again, but I realized whoever had the resources and obsession to pull that off probably wouldn't hesitate to hurt anyone who didn't heed those threats."  
  
Slowly, Dipper lowered one of the hands covering his eyes. "And that's why you don't want anyone to go to Bishopgate."  
  
"You got that right. And why you're not, unless I'm goin' and I'm not goin' unless you have a really good reason why."  
  


* * *

  
"Whaddya mean, 'they won't stop comin''!?"  
  
Dipper looked over the journal #2, having somehow convinced his great-uncle to let him borrow it for a while. "Yeah, I've been looking over the notes Ford made on the fae, and before you ask, I'm still not pretending he's the one named Stanley in private. Back to my point, it looks like Teihiihan are part of a class of fae that need to be specifically banned from entry into the human world. If the ban is damaged, well…"  
  
"...How can you  _touch_ a restraining order, much less hurt it?"  
  
"Well, not the legal language of the ban itself," Dipper began, flipping to an earlier page. "But a lot of pledges-mystically enforced fae deals and laws-do have physical items they're sworn on. If the symbol is ruined in some way…" He shrugged.  
  
Stan began to rub his nose. "...Okay, so I'm gonna guess you think that whatever this 'item' is, it's around that place. First of all, what makes you think-"  
  
"That this isn't an exception to that rule?" Dipper cleared his throat. "'From what I have discovered from credible sources-'"  
  
"Define 'credible.' There's a hunk of bunk in the world surrounding the weird, take it from a source of it-"  
  
"Grunkle Stan, you grew up with Ford. Do you really think he isn't the kind of person who fact checks  _everything_ he puts in a work of his? Twice?"  
  
Stan looked thoughtful for a second. "...Point taken. Continue."  
  
"'According to credible sources, any ban a variety of Huntsmen suffer that bars them from Earth is generally based around a cautionary tale that prohibits them from attacking until the rules of the story are violated. As a result, heroes who ban them generally find things that aren't likely to be violated if they're forgotten, not trusting the memory of people in general or the telephone effect.'"  
  
Stan caught on. "...You think that somthin' happened at the old asylum that let them back."  
  
"Exactly. And if they're trying to set up a camp here, things are only going to get more dangerous the more of them immigrate here."  
  
Stan bit his cheek and thought on it. On the one hand, more Teihiihan meant more danger for the twins and the Shack. On the other, Stan still was far from convinced the person behind The Photo (which deserved those capital letters) wasn't any less dangerous than a hunting party of insane dwarves. Or much less supernatural in nature, given how fairies in general were involved; it probably wouldn't be hard at all to hide pointy ears and get a job at the place.  
  
"...So, we'll hunker down, figure out a way to ward em' off. I'm pretty sure we  _don't_ have any other examples of those 'token' thing, and I don't think we or the town is going to be on their radar for new catches. Really, I think Cadwallop was kind of desperate about getting a new name;  _Soos_ isn't exactly the kind of guy who'd be a fight worth talking about."  
  
"...Point." Dipper admitted. "But on the other hand, you tend to buy up a lot of junk, and from what Ved said we can't tell if something is a token until more Teihiihan try to steal it. And let's face it,  _we_ may be okay, but I don't think the forest creatures are. I mean, the Gremlobin has that gaze of his, but it's easy enough to avoid to the point where hunting him isn't suicide. And I don't think most of the creatures they'd be after are as lethal as he is."  
  
Stan was severely tempted to point out that humans were not the various monsters of Gravity Falls, and  _especially_ not his family and friends. But they were  _Dipper's_ friends, many of them, so he decided it was wiser to keep his mouth shut on that item of xenophobic cynicism. "...Could I put one last argument forward?" Stan began. "Somebody's on the case already, and I think Ved's probably better at doing his job than we are. He probably has buds that are also better at it than we are, so maybe would should-"  
  
A familiar cough sounded from the back doorway of the Shack. "Grunkle Stan?", Mabel began. "You sure you were hearing the guy? I mean, listening not just to what he said but  _how_ he was saying it?"  
  
Stan turned around, looking confused.  
  
"I mean on the tail end of his big 'I want to tell you, but if I don't play nice with the chief I'm gonna be in big trouble' speech? You know, 'ze whole completely coincident loyalty pledge'?"  
  
"...And?" Stan asked, already dreading the answer.  
  
"Well, if he has the ability to make a promise unbreakable on pain of big trouble,  _why didn't he do that?_ "  
  
A second later, Stan heard the distinctive slap of Dipper facepalming.  
  
"You think he was usin' reverse psychology on us?"  
  
"I don't know what that means, but if it's 'saying the opposite of what you want in the hopes someone will do it', I guess so." Mabel tapped her chin. "From the sound of it, whoever Ved's boss is, he's _really_ scared of anything that threatens secrecy in any way. Maybe he's a tyrant. maybe he's just a bit too safety-minded for his own good, maybe those web stories Soos hates were right about the humans being jerks to elves, but by the sound of it, he's not the kind of person who  _can_ ask for help no matter how much he or his friends really need it. Then orders his friends not to ask for help."  
  
There was a very long pause as Stan thought on this.  
  
The twins would want to go even if they didn't already; the mysterious Chawkamas Mound and the strange events it was likely behind was exactly the kind of weird that drew his niece and nephew like moths to flame, and discovering at least one person was in big trouble due to the mystery was like pouring gas on the open flame. On the other, it was still  _open flame,_ in the form of not just the person behind The Photo, but also short and angry serial killers…  
  
And unless someone doused the flame, it would spread and put all of the town, including the twins, in danger. One the designated firefighter didn't think he could put out.  
  
"You win," he groaned. "But we're  _only_ going to investigate until the Shack is refurbished enough to reopen in about a week. Should be a couple days after Ford gets back. And we're taking backup."  
  
"Backup?", both Pines twins asked simultaneously.  
  


* * *

  
"...Excuse me,  _what!?_ "  
  
Wendy slammed her magazine shut and threw it on the table. "I'm sorry, I just heard my boss say we're going to a  _haunted insane asylum?_ Please tell me that just came out wrong."  
  
"Actually yeah. I said the  _possibly_ haunted insane asylum." Stan tried to laugh. "Maybe it has a resident nutjob instead. Er, the kind looks sane, actually has a shed full of dismembered body parts."  
  
"Nuh-uh. No way Jose." Wendy sat back, crossing her arms. "Crazy people? I'm cool with. Ghosts? I've dealt with them, no worries. Crazy people  _and_ ghosts, with a significant portion being  _the ghosts of crazy people?_ Ha ha,  _no._ "  
  
"Actually," Dipper began, tapping his fingers together. "Most, er, mentally unique people aren't hostile or even that non-functional-"  
  
"Most is not  _all,_ dude," Wendy interrupted, pulling out her phone. "The reason I recognized Bishopgate is that one of my old teachers made us do a report on serial killers before someone figured out a way to sneak a pink slip around his tenure. My guy was in there for a while-Cameron Mueller, aka, the Gourmand Surgeon."  
  
Dipper looked pointedly away from the phone's screen, and thus any concrete information on how a multiple murderer got both "Gourmand" and "Surgeon" as parts of his nickname. "Point taken," he said, a bit loudly. "Still, even if he died there, we-"  
  
"Are going to be going wherever it is that enrages his unquiet spirit." Wendy sat back in her chair. "It's the way exploring a bad place always turns out for stupid teens. I am not stupid, ergo I am not going."  
  
"Come on, Wendy," Soos began. "Employee unity and all that?"  
  
Wendy cocked her head. "You know what, you're right! Let's say I just do your job while you're off chasing crazy dwarves-"  
  
"It's gonna be a week until the Shack is fit for reopening, Wendy."  
  
"...Dang."  
  
Mabel put down her pack. "Look, I get you're scared-"  
  
"Scared!? Ya  _think?!_ " Wendy shouted, kicking her chair away. "I don't wanna go near a haunted booby hatch to begin with, much less one likely haunted by the ghosts of angry Indians, a serial killer, and a freaking  _proto-Nazi!_  I had enough of ghosts with that convenience store, and those were just  _a grumpy old married couple!_ I slept under the bed for a  _week_ after playing through the asylum level in  _Noisy Mountain 2!_ I have no shame in admitting I am  _terrified,_ guys!"  
  
Slowly, Wendy became aware she was leaning over the cashier desk, crushing the register. With her hat. Sheepishly, she closed the money tray. "Sorry. I just have this.. _thing,_ about hospitals, okay?"  
  
Mabel blinked. "I..kinda figured. Well, that or you had too much caffeine." An awkward pause. "You wanna..talk about it?"  
  
"...Not really," Wendy admitted, slumping back into her chair. "I just..I don't think I can be much help. I mean, you guys not only have a lot more practice than this than I do, it's that..well, you saw that. How much help am I going to be if I'm scared of my own shadow?"  
  
Soos cleared his throat, awkwardly. "Is this like my birthday thing?"  
  
"...Kinda," Wendy began, looking rather depressed now. "Look, can you just  _go?_ Please? I know it's just me being a coward, but-"  
  
"Wendy."  
  
The cashier in question nearly fell out of her chair. "Stan?"  
  
The proprietor of the Mystery Shack slid behind the desk, putting his hand on her shoulder. "I'm gonna cut to the chase. I know, and I'm not gonna tell until you're ready too. But I know who you are, kid, and you're not a coward." He paused. "Lazy, unmotivated, and a bit delinquent, but you ain't a coward. Fearlessness is overrated, real guts come from the fact you are scared, but you do the job anyway. Not having fears means you're an idiot, or Gideon Gleeful."  
  
"...and the 'but' is?" Wendy began, looking skeptical.  
  
"Besides the fact that I just made a redundant statement, until you face your fears, you're gonna be ruled by them. Toughening up is more about bein' confident enough to say you aren't the world's whipping boy-er, girl-and that being treated as one's really not fair to anyone. Besides, fear's a good thing when it's trying to tell you if somethin' you or say, your  _employer_ is gonna do somethin' stupid." Stan winked.  
  
Wendy hummed, thinking it over. "...pay me for this week with a bonus, and I'm in."  
  
"I'll give you pay and Monday off."  
  
"Done."  
  
A moment later, Soos found his voice. "...Did Mr. Pines just... _agree to paying more?_ "  
  
Dipper shook his head. "So I am  _not_ seeing things. Good to know."  
  
Stan chuckled. "Make no mistake, this isn't about me being visited by three ghosts-it's just that the Shack has a hazard pay clause and, I can tell you, Bishopgate's pretty dang hazardous." With that he lifted up his backpack. "Is there anythin' we need to do first, before we go on the world's creepiest field trip? Besides Wendy packin'?"  
  
"Not here," Dipper said, adjusting his hat. "I've sent an email to Ford telling him what's going on-and yeah, I was surprised he knew what that was too, apparently they were testing the internet at his college."  
  
Mabel seemed to be paying attention somewhere else at the moment. "Huh? Oh yeah, I told Candy and Grenda what we were doing, and they're gonna tell Pacifica. Possibly embellished, but they got the idea."  
  
"Abuelita got it straight from the horse's mouth." To emphasize his point, Soos imitated a nicker and then took a bite of some hay. Shortly before spitting it out. "That tasted a lot better in my head  
  
"Good." Stan did a quick check of the register's cash tray for any errant coins, then locked it. "Let the bad idea begin!"  
  
With that, Stan, Dipper, and Soos strode out. After a short while of fighting her urge to stay behind anyway, Wendy reluctantly got to her feet as well, following them.  
  
Mabel was the last. She was too busy wondering something.  
  
_Wendy...what **happened?**_  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuity note; this takes place directly after Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons. Assume later episodes simply do not exist, especially any about overall cosmology.
> 
> Except not really. Fun fact about the nWoD: The entire universe beyond Earth and the mortal plane could be a big HERE THERE BE DRAGONS banner and it would be entirely accurate.


	4. Chapter 3: The Doors to Dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes arrive at Bishopgate, and find it deserves its reputation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold, ladies and gents:
> 
> The Plot Begins! And now I don’t have to worry about the actual show messing up my timeline!
> 
> ...Which stinks, but really, it’s probably better as the self-contained two-season series it was imagined as, honestly. All neat and relatively tidy. Besides, it’s not like it has an open ending a la Twin Peaks, am I right?
> 
> Also, given revelations in The Last Mabelcorn and Weirdmageddon? Bill Cipher is totally one of the Gentry himself, or at least a powerful spirit. Maybe an acamoth. For those of you who don’t know Changeling, let that be ominous foreshadowing, along with the fact that the unicorns are pretty Gentry themselves.
> 
> (Except for the part about acamoth. That particular segment of the nWoD doesn’t figure in this story. Probably a good thing for our intrepid heroes. Ask me if you wanna know more. Not the part about Gentry though, that’s spoilers. I will say the bubble seal is a perfectly good mental image of how reality scabs over in the nWoD. And Mabel’s bubble-world a pretty good mental image of why people willingly serve more trustworthy acamoth).

* * *

It wasn't the most eventful drive, all things considered. Pretty much the only thing that happened was everyone realizing that Stan's car was not meant for journeys on the interstate, however brief (the thing bounced at higher speeds-apparently his mother had this "interstate seance" scam). Still, moderate-to-severe discomfort and head bruises aside, events were ultimately nothing of real import on the relatively brief (it was an hour north of town) journey to Bishopgate.  
  
The immediate approach to Bishopgate was where things started getting interesting, in a Chinese backhanded well-wishing kind of way.  
  
For one, the dirt road that lead off the exit ramp was what could be called light-to-heavy forested. As in, it started off completely clear, then a few feet into the road there were tightly packed trees on either side. This gave the road a rather unpleasant look of being a great, green, sideways maw, especially given the...unique growth of some of the branches, hanging over the road.  
  
Speaking of the road-  
  
"Grunk- _gah!_ -le Stan? Does your- _ow!_ -car have trouble wit- _sorry Wendy-_ dirt too?"  
  
"No, it's just- _oof_ -this darn road. Seriously, how long- _ouch!_ -since they filled in the potholes, twenty years agooo _ooo I am going to sue them! For semi-legit reasons!_ "  
  
And nobody in the car could tell if it was just them, but the path seemed to get bumpier as they got closer to the hospital. Almost as if the road was trying to warn them away.  
  
Finally, the car got past the maw, and in the fading sunlight was a large, columned mansion that had to be Bishopgate itself, looming on top of an enormous hill that had to be the mysterious mound.  
  
Really, the asylum seemed incomplete, somehow. Everything about the place seemed to be the sort of thing that lightning would dramatically flash behind as the sky vented its tearful wrath upon the land. For one, its position on the mound was slightly skewed towards the driveway, giving it the appearance of a crouching cougar, ready to pounce. The columns did not help, being an off-white color that was probably intended to be comforting by a person who had no idea what comforting meant. The windows on what had to be the twenty or so rooms facing the street were narrow, giving the impression that the hospital was glaring at any approaching it with way, way too many eyes. As if the giant clock on the top of the overhand didn't bring to mind a hungry cyclops already..  
  
Which wasn't even getting into the yard. To be frank, it seemed whoever the current director was of Bishopgate, they had forgotten that such a thing as a "groundskeeper" existed. Or...actually no, one who would have taken a good look and quit would be more likely to actually burn the foliage down, in the probably correct assumption bare earth or ash would look less menacing. Probably less lazy as well.  
  
The hedgerows between the three staircases leading up to the doors had grown so wild that it was difficult to tell where one line of bushes ended and another began, when the rows were placed _behind_ each other. The hedges also seemed unsure if they wanted to be the familiar boxiness of Euclidean geometry or not, leading to the overall effect of an organic, leafy heap of disorganized car parts and tentacles threading out of them at semi-random areas. Speaking of tentacles, the asylum's face had apparently developed quite the ivy problem, with the thickest individual vines any worker at the Mystery Shack had ever seen. The way the plants had grown almost looked like a pair of hands with the world's longest fingers, trailing up Bishopgate's face like the asylum itself was bemoaning its state. Or possibly being held back from attacking.  
  
"...That is the angriest building I have ever seen," Soos put succinctly.. "And I've seen the Tunnel of Loathe at Dystopia World."  
  
"We  _sure_ this place isn't abandoned utterly?" Wendy asked, slightly hopefully.  
  
"No such luck." Stan pointed the Staff Only parking, revealing a nearly-full lot. Perhaps the only full lot in the entire grounds.  
  
Dipper took a glance at the building. "What are those on the door?"  
  
"The Six Saints," Wendy replied automatically. "Shortly after Bishopgate became, well, Bishopgate, it seems one of the original owners got someone to make new doors with Catholic patrons of mental health carved on them. Website says it was his way of blessing the new hospital's endeavors and wishing a speedy recovery to all."  
  
"Huh." Dipper leaned back. "Weird. They looked kinda familiar. Grandpa Shermy really did have a famous old dead guy face."  
  
By now the car had pulled to a stop, so Mabel poked her head out of the window for a closer look. "...I don't remember that picture of Gampy being so...camera-shy."  
  
Curious, Stan pulled out his binoculars to get a closer look before he forgot.  
  
Sure enough, even the supposed blessing of Bishopgate by its original owners looked a little off-kilter. There was nothing overly horrifying about the doors (really, the images were somewhat uninspired, as sacred icons of holy people went), but something about the way they were posed gave Stan the sense that the Six Saints felt like they're really rather be somewhere else. The rightmost pair had a pair of cloaked figures, one man and one woman, who appeared to be caught mid-step on their way out of the picture. The center pair were both men, an older one almost seeming to push on the fourth wall in hopes it would give way, and a younger one with a hat, learning on his cane with apparent resignation to his post. The leftmost pair featured a man with his cloak drawn in such a way like he was attempting to be as invisible as the door would allow him to be, and a woman whose arm outstretched to the heavens reeked less of prayer than with a sense of "seriously God, why?"  
  
"...Something tells me whoever bought them didn't pay enough up front," Stan muttered.  


 

* * *

  
As a final bit of disorientation, going through the center doors to the visitor center (whose Saints, according to the placard nearby, were Eustochium of Padua and Benedict Joseph Labre) was such a jarring shift of scenery Dipper briefly wondered if he had wandered through a portal to an alternate universe (it wouldn't be surprising).  
  
Whereas the exterior of Bishopgate looked like a restored mansion and museum, the inside was about as sterile as a hospital could get-tasteful blue walls, a large, comfy sofa and not so comfy cushioned metal chairs, a U-shaped welcome desk with staff dutifully monitoring their card game programs, vending machines, even a magazine rack. It looked like just about any city clinic in the world.  
  
At first glance. On second inspection, there was, among other things, places where the brown marble tiles met hardwood, in the alcoves were tarnished metal figurines that reeked of an era before the Civil War, whose most new features were the glass casings and the "DO NOT TOUCH" signs, and hanging above the whole scene was a great chandelier that immediately put the movie buffs of the Shack in mind of a Roaring Twenties concert hall (and perhaps was in one once at some point, given the placard under it credited it to Director Weaver).  
  
Also, there was a sign explaining how to schedule tours of the grounds. A History of Mental Health in a Half-Mile, according to the promotional image.  
  
At least there wasn't much of a line. Not a lot of people checking in friends and family to the live-in mental hospital, thank all that was holy. With entities like Bill Cipher around, that could easily have been a problem. Stan walked up to the center receptionist, and-  
  
"Not my department. The check-ins are the left doors heading into the building."  
  
And whatever he was about to say remained unsaid. That kind of flippant attitude was something it was a tad surprising to be on the other end of.  
  
Soos cleared his throat. "Actually, dude, we're not, uh, admitting anyone, we just want to ask, uh, a few questions."  
  
A few seconds later, the headphone wearing receptionist apparently realized they weren't leaving and groaned, clicking something on his screen before swiveling to face the Shack's employees.  
  
"What can I help you with," he said, too flatly to be considered a question.  
  
Of course there was something off about the clerks too. Why wouldn't there be? Unlike the vague menace of Bishopgate's exterior, though, this desk jockey was a far more mundane kind of off. To put it simply, the guy was way, way too young to be hospital staff, seemingly. He didn't even seem like he had graduated  _high school_ yet, let alone had the degrees needed to be a part of a medical institution. Admittedly, he just worked the front desk, but somehow, the Shack felt there was more to that job than "take notes. refer to someone who can actually do something about it, play solitaire." The expression on his face didn't seem out of place on an overworked secretary, but the Shack was the entire customer base there-he could at least attempt to  _look interested_ for a few minutes.  
  
"We were wondering if you allowed visitors to people who don't have anybody in here," Soos continued. "See, the dudes over are taking a bit of summer school, and for the class report on Monday is on modern mental health. We were-"  
  
"Non-patient visiting hours are on Saturday," the clerk interrupted, reaching for his headphones. "Either look it up, or make a good excuse. Bye."  
  
"Hey!" Stan interrupted, slamming his magic-eight ball walking baton over the headphones. "What's that on the sign?"  
  
The clerk, for his part, didn't seem to bother with being annoyed. "If you're here about the tour, our guides are currently on summer break."  
  
"S-summer break!?" Stan slid the headphones a little farther away. "How does that make  _any_ sense? Hiking the price, sure, but-"  
  
"Hey, man, I'm just the receptionist. I don't know everyone's number. So, if you'll-"  
  
Stan drew the headphones further away. "Look kid, I've dealt with a lot of front desks before in my life. And I can tell ya kid-you aren't cut out as a liar. I don't care  _how_ much paperwork you think you're avoiding, but it's gotta be less than answerin' a complaint. So, shyster to shyster-what's the real reason?"  
  
The clerk looked up, popping a bit of gum in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.  
  
"...Can't tell ya. Bonus is at stake."  
  
"Can't argue with that," Stan admitted, releasing the headphones.  
  
"Excuse me", Mabel interrupted. "But can I plead the case of, um, really precocious little girls here?"  
  
The clerk looked down, an instant of surprise briefly breaking his mask of late-teenage indifference. "Um, sure."  
  
Mabel made her best 'I am a cute girl, please pity me' face. "Pleeease? It's really important we get this scholarship."  
  
"No can do, dude."  
  
Okay, time to  _really_ turn on the Sad Cute. "But mister-"  
  
"How long until you have to turn in the report?"  
  
Oh. Didn't rehearse that.  
  
Oh dear.  
  
Suddenly, Wendy cleared her throat. "Actually, two weeks. It's a summer term paper."  
  
"Okay, guys," the clerk began, rolling over to his computer, beginning to type away. "I'll have you in for...the 20th? Sounds good?"  
  
" _Wendy, what are you doing?_ " Dipper whispered through the side of his mouth.  
  
The redhead paid no attention, though, instead leaning on the desk. "Awesome. Not really what we'd like, giving the Work Now Lazy Later principle, but hey, it's the thought that counts."  
  
The clerk was paying full attention now. "Yeah man, I feel for ya. Really, you know the worst part about this job?"  
  
"I'm gonna guess the waiting"  
  
"Worse! The waiting, and  _not having a clue why._ " The clerk leaned back in his seat towards Wendy, apparently thankful to have someone to rant to. "I mean, come on guys! We're the guys whose job it is to get someone else to take over, you could at least  _tell_ us why the tour nobody goes on is-I've said too much," he suddenly finished, looking embarrassed. "Suffice to say, our bosses make no sense."  
  
"Tell me about it! I mean, just between you and me, my boss? Complete loon." Blissfully ignoring Stan suddenly scowling, Wendy turned to directly face the receptionist. "I mean seriously, sometimes I just wanna... _annoy_ him sometimes. Do something I know won't hurt enough to put my nametag in danger, but enough to pop a vein."  
  
Stan wasn't scowling any more. In fact, he looked outright interested now.  
  
For his part, the clerk was starting to look nervous, glancing at the other (oblivious) receptionists. "I dunno. I mean, it's kind of a violation of ethics anyway…"  
  
"Oh come on dude! What's more important-a list of things the Man made to keep you down and licking his clown shoes, or the dreams of mostly innocent children?"  
  
The children in question caught on, and both the Pine twins proceeded to invoke the Forbidden Art Of The Puppy Dog Eyes on the clerk.  
  
"...I get it. Still, I don't know how-"  
  
"On a  _completely unrelated matter,_ " Stan interrupted, looking away innocently. "Did ya know hospitals giving out visitor badges don't actually require you to justify why they're roaming the halls? Unless it's something like live-saving surgery, a person with a badge can just walk around, and say,  _report_ on what's going on..."  
  
A mischievous smirk came to the clerk's face. "And how long would this hypothetical visitor be loitering for?"  
  
"Oh...maybe about five days? Really nothing else to do when you only have a certain valuable portion of your time taken up once a week, on Mondays."  
  
"Really? What a shame." With that, the clerk hit a few buttons on his computer, and an electronic signature machine clicked on. "Sign here please. Also note that the hypothetical person would have to check in each day to sign in. These badges are only good until closing time at 10:00. Regulation, ya know? ...Would wonder why they'd want to come back. You came in through the front, right?"  
  
"Than-er, yeah. Needs a good gardener. And a paint job. Maybe a new building," Wendy said as she quickly jotted down her name.  
  
As she passed Stan, she smirked at Stan knowingly.  
  
"You have sleep-learned well, young Sith apprentice," Stan didn't really bother to whisper in reply.  


 

* * *

  
Beyond the welcome center, Bishopgate seemed to resolve the internal dilemma of being a hospital or a restored house-cum-museum.  
  
To be frank, it looked...kind of boring, actually. Once one had seen one hospital interior, one had seen them all. Blue walls, white tile floor, scrubs-wearing medical staff going about the business of doing all the jobs the white-suited actual doctors didn't want, that sort of thing. About the only thing that really stuck out as different was the relatively low amount of medical equipment.  
  
Which kind of made sense, Dipper realized. It was, after all, a facility for...people with different problems, to put it as tactfully as he could.  
  
Wendy, on the other hand, let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.  
  
A few seconds later, Mabel spoke up. "So what's the plan, bro-bro?"  
  
Dipper adjusted his hat, looked determined, and rose his finger…  
  
Shortly before lowering it. "Wing it," he admitted. "I honestly thought getting in wouldn't be that easy, so part one of my list was 'sneak back.' And none of that involved where to start-well, I was thinking that sealed sub-basement, but that's kind of more somewhere to go  _after_ you find out what's waiting there."  _With the biggest sticks you can find,_ he internally added.  
  
A few more seconds passed, everyone quietly trying to come up with an idea.  
  
Soos spoke up first. "...Why don't we ask some dude about those weird small angry dudes?"  
  
"Good basis for a plan, but no," Stan replied, shaking his head. "If we go up to people and ask them if they've seen cannibals about half everyone's heights because a fairy super soldier kinda-sorta told us that he was in trouble but his magic prevented him from sayin' more? Yeah, I think that directly conflicts with 'leave here as soon as possible.' We gotta phrase it some other way."  
  
Soos began to stroke his chin. "What about sayin' we're plumbers?"  
  
"...Huh?"  
  
"I can't help but think those small dudes aren't exactly the quietest berserkers in the world. And have you heard your plumbing, Mr. Pines?"  
  
Wendy caught on. "Would this sound happen to be something like a robot dragon roaring, slowed down?"  
  
"I was thinking more VCEP album played all at once, but that works."  
  
"...Knew that rock lining was a bad plan," Stan muttered to no one, holding his head.  
  
Dipper shrugged. "Well, it's a nice start."  
  
With that, he walked up to a blue-shirted, chubby man who didn't seem to be engaged in anything more important. "Hi! I'm Dipper Pines, Precocious Plumber (currently in training)! We were called to...to…" Dipper's voice trailed off as he got a better look at the man as he turned-or more accurately, slumped-to face the boy. "Um…"  
  
First sign that this wasn't actually an orderly was the fact that, on closer inspection, his shirt was made of much less easily washed linen, and had a buttoned collar. In fact, he looked slightly out of place in a medical environment, more like another visitor than anything else. If one paid absolutely no attention to his face.  
  
The man looked utterly disheveled. A beard that spoke to at least a few months of not bothering to even clean it hung limply off his jaw and over his mouth, a goatee that would seem more at home belonging to someone without one. Thinning black hair grew wiry and chaotic, sticking together in clumps. More than anything, was his eyes. His eyes should have been normal-a lighter shade of brown, not unlike Soos'.  
  
Should have been, because the physical eyes were  _all there were-_ there was no expression there, no hint of emotion or even the recognition someone was talking to him. His eyes were just...there. Vacant. Not the normal vacancy of boredom, or apathy-vacant, as in empty. For a moment, Dipper was confused as to whether the man was actually alive or the world's most lifelike (and on a related note, creepy) animatronic, until he blinked-something almost obscenely normal compared to the rest of him.  
  
A few seconds of uncomfortable scrutiny (?) later, Dipper cleared his throat. "Um...forget I said anything."  
  
The man shuffled off, zombie-like.  
  
After watching him turn a corner, Dipper shook his head. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume we just met one of the patients."  
  
Wendy, after taking a second for her normal color to return, shook her head. "Great, dude. I needed that reminder of what kind of place this is."  
  
Stan shook his head. "Yeesh. I'm divided between feeling unsettled and feeling sorry for that guy. For being treated  _here,_ of all places."  
  
Mabel giggled nervously. "Well, it can't be  _that_ bad. I mean, after two bad directors, Bishopgate probably checked out its staff from then on, right? I mean, after the lobotomizer-in-chief and the pulp comic villain wannabe, they had to make sure anyone else they hired is at least-"  
  
"HE'S HERE HE'S HERE!"  
  
The echoing shriek put an end to any rationalizations.  
  
It did however, did start a rather quick sprint from the Shack's employees.  


 

* * *

  
Sadly (or maybe not), the "he" in question was not a Teihiihan. What there  _was_ was a wild-haired man being held down by a trio of nurses.  
  
"Mr. Bennings-" grunted a redheaded nurse  
  
"Nonono, you don't understand-"  
  
"Bennings, there's nobody in your-"  
  
"Nonono, he can disappear, I saw him he's there, he's still there-"  
  
The redhead groaned. "How many times-John, Higgins isn't there, he doesn't-"  
  
The patient's-John's-eyes widened, almost bigger than his sockets. "NO NO NO HE'S REAL HE'S THERE I SAW HIM WHY WON'T YOU-"  
  
Another nurse, a man, pulled out a syringe. "Bennings, if you don't comply-"  
  
Bennings' eyes went even wider, desperately struggling to keep his neck away from the needle.  
  
"HEY!"  
  
A task that was helped by Mabel; her sudden shout was more than enough to startled the nurses into loosening their grip. Something Bennings took full advantage of, breaking free in the blink of an eye and then proceeding to latch on to a startled Stan."Please, man, you gotta help me. You gotta get me out of here, Higgins is-"  
  
" _John_ ", said the redhead, dangerously. "If you don't get back here  _right now_ -"  
  
Bennings ran behind Stan. For a moment, Wendy thought he was using her boss as a hostage, but no-he was acting more like a frightened child hanging behind a parent.  
  
Growling, the three nurses advanced-  
  
"Ex- _cuse_ me!"  
  
Only to grind to a halt in sheer befuddlement at the increasingly furious tween girl in their path.  
  
The male nurse cleared his throat, awkwardly. "Um, can you please-?"  
  
"Can't you see he's  _scared?_ " Mabel turned back to the escaped patient. "Hi there...John?"  
  
Bennings poked his head out from behind Stan, who was quite paralyzed by the whole business. "Who's asking?"  
  
"Hi, I'm Mabel," she replied, her voice a lot more soothing than normal. "Someone named Higgins was mean to you?"  
  
"...Higgins is  _mean?_ " Bennings laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "Oh he's a bit more than  _mean_."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Bullies. They can be real jerks at times, with no good reason." Mabel approached Bennings carefully, nonthreatening. "But every bully has to stop for a while, if only so they can sleep. That gives you a great chance to forget what they did."  
  
"Forget what  _he_ did?" Bennings laughed again, even more bitter. "He bullies me because  _he_ won't forget, or forgive. Thinks death'd be a bit too easy, after what I did to the lady."  
  
Mabel paled a bit, but kept approaching. "Well, if you're that scared, what he did wasn't right. That's not paying someone back, that's being cruel-"  
  
A very nasty smile came to the male nurse's face. "How much mercy does 'burn someone so bad you can't tell what they look like anymore' deserve?" he asked, a taunting tone in his voice.  
  
Every member of the Shack suddenly fell into a fighting stance, Stan breaking out of Bennings' cling as he did so.  
  
For a moment, nobody moved.  
  
" _I DIDN'T MEAN TO!_ "  
  
That's when Bennings started to cry.  
  
And not just cry, but  _wail._  
  
He actually curled up on the floor as he did so, hiding his face in his patient gown.  
  
"I...I didn...I didn't…" he choked out between sobs. "I jus...I wanted her to st...stop. She was...she was hurting me…I just..."  
  
"Oh, save it for someone who cares, John." The redhead strode forward-  
  
And shrieked as she was pushed back by Mabel. "Hey! Let him cry."  
  
Bennings' sobs continued. "She...she knew. How much-how much I hate burns. Told her-told her how they held me down...put out their cigars on me…" A sharp inhale. "She...she did it too. Wanted to know how...how burns worked on flesh-flesh, not stone-flesh. But I listened-she was good to me, between burns, if I was good. Put nice thoughts in my head, pulled out the voices,,,"  
  
Dipper lowered his guard slightly. "Um, what did you-"  
  
"But she could be really  _mean_ too," Bennings continued, unknowing of Dipper. "She, she could make them louder, make the thoughts worse...danger, danger, always danger. Only felt safe with her, the beautiful lady." He inhaled again. "Didn't get that the burns hurt. So I put kerosene on me, before a burn, so it would catch. Really hurt me, so she didn't have to burn me any more...but it spread…"  
  
Bennings trailed off into more weeping. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry…"  
  
"...Hey," Mabel interrupted. "It's okay."  
  
The mean nurse laughed, a far more cold sound than Bennings. "Seriously? Lady, have you been in a-"  
  
Stan suddenly wheeled around to face Benning's orderlies. "Shut yer yap," he growled.  
  
The nurse's eyes widened as he took a step back.  
  
Mabel put a hand on Bennings' shoulder. "I don't know what you did...but you're sorry, aren't you?" She sat down, patting the weeping man's back. "And it's not like you wanted to hurt her. You just wanted to show her how hurt  _you_ were, for something  _she_ did. It's not like  _you_ deserved to be hurt, is it?"  
  
"Higgins won't believe that," Bennings replied into his legs.  
  
"Have you ever told him what she did?"  
  
Slowly, Bennings stopped shaking. "...No."  
  
"Then, next time you see him, maybe you can tell him. If he still doesn't believe you're sorry enough to be forgiven…" Mabel shrugged. "Well, that's his stubborn old fault, isn't it. And you'll know he's just mean for the sake of being mean."  
  
Languidly, deliberately, Bennings began to unfurl. "T...thanks. But...but I don't wanna face him right now. And I don't want the tranqs. They make me dream."  
  
The redheaded nurse groaned. "Fine. I'll authorize a temporary transfer, you'll-"  
  
"What was that about tranqs?" came an almost melodious female voice from directly behind the nurses.  
  
The syringe presumably full of said tranqs clattered to the ground. All three of the nurses slowly turned around, the muscular and silent one shifting to reveal the speaker.  
  
A tall, olive-skinned woman wearing a white gown with a white nurse's cap smiled in the least friendly manner possible without breaking into a grimace.  
  
"D-d-d-Dee!" stuttered out the mean nurse. "I-I didn't know you were taking an early-"  
  
"I wasn't," Dee replied, her teeth barely moving even as her mouth did. "I heard Mr. Bennings screaming, and, unlike  _some people I could mention,_ " she said as her greyish eyes flashed over to the redhead, "I am always ready to assist a patient out of a relapse. But that's not why I'm here today."  
  
With that, Dee strode over to the syringe, picking it up in a single, fluid motion. "Mind explaining what's inside this?"  
  
"Er...Um...Antipsychotics?" the male nurse replied, desperately.  
  
"Then why, oh why, was Mr. Bennings telling this young lady about tranquilizers just then, hm? Tranquilizers, it should be mentioned, being the kind of thing  _you inject into struggling patients?_ "  
  
The redhead gave a nervous giggle. "Well...er, you know how Bennings gets during an episode. After the latest Higgins encounter, he got himself worked up, and actively started clawing at the door, so we-"  
  
"Okay, that? Was actively offensive to me as a liar." Stan said, frowning. "We didn't see the whole thing, but he was on the other side long before ya pulled that plunger out."  
  
Both of the speaking nurses paled, as Dee's not-a-smile twitched.  
  
"Mr. Bennings...could you please go to the comfort room? After what these...fine people just did, I think you deserve it. Also, I don't think you like me screaming."  
  
Bennings nodded, before backing off down a corridor.  
  
As soon as he was out of sight, the white-gowned nurse  _lunged._  It took Mabel a second to realize she didn't actually attack the nurses, merely snarl in a way that reminded her unpleasantly of an enraged dog. "The  _hell_ were you two doing!?"  
  
The redhead gulped. "I was scared! He was waving around that paint of his like it was a club or something-"  
  
"You mean the paint  _palette?_ The cardboard, safety one? Oh, I can see why that would be  _really_ scary. You might smudge your makeup!"  
  
"Er, well, yeah, but he was-"  
  
"Protip, Sam," Dee cut in. "The next time you fall asleep on the job, read the diagnosis to help you doze off? Helping Mr. Bennings realize that accidentally stepping on someone's foot isn't an act worthy of  _suicidal ideation_  is actually what we're trying to help him with-or we would be, if I didn't have the only brain not shoved three feet up my own rear end. Or, in the case of  _Ed_ here," she said, turning to face the mean nurse, "deciding that ever since the court declared that I am not allowed within 500 feet of a puppy, I get my fun kicking the patients instead."  
  
"C-Come on Dee!" Ed, sweating profusely. "I mean, I know we've had our disagreements over the years, but Bennings-I mean, he doesn't lash out now, but-"  
  
"Save it, numbnuts," Dee cut in, dismissively waving him off. "Just admit to yourself you're an evil little prick and stop looking like a  _self-righteous, stupid_ little prick. As for  _you_ , Jenn…"  
  
Dee's rant trailed off as she turned to the large nurse, who had remained utterly silent. "...you know what, I don't care. Just...get out. Clean the bedpans. I'll think of exactly what part of you three I haven't maimed yet later. Go."  
  
The three scurried off-or rather, two-and-a-half, as Jenn's pace was rather slow.  
  
Dee inhaled, sighed, and closed her eyes, rubbing her temple. After a few repeats of that, she turned to face the Mystery Shack, a slightly less fake smile coming to her face.  
  
"Hi! You must be visitors. Sorry you had to see that, my staff is composed of morons, wannabe supervillains, or the latter being a function of the former. I'm Head Nurse Diwa Sykes, please call me Dee. I'll be right with you...after I smoke. If you want to join me outside, be my guest."  


 

* * *

  
The first thing people tended to notice about Bishopgate's grounds behind the East Wing (beside being rather cool for summer) was the fountain in the middle of the stone plaza. Namely, the sheer amount of abuse it had apparently weathered. Whatever elegant design the marble once was, it had long since become a cracked, asymmetric mess of barely-standing debris, yet one that somehow still had water flowing through it in a somewhat constant stream.  
  
Next to the obvious symbolism, a somewhat less sad-looking stone bench sat, where Nurse Dee had proceeded to park herself, cigarette in mouth, attempting to strike up a wooden match.  
  
Dipper cleared his throat. "You know, that isn't exactly a healthy-"  
  
"I know, kid." The match went up, quickly followed by the white cylinder. "But I'll be honest here: As self-destructive habits go, it's better in the short term than alcohol. Which is why I advocate getting a job you don't loathe-the less stress, the less cancer sticks, hooch, or drugs you feel the need to torture your body with to forget your life." She sighed, blowing out a puff of smoke that curled into mildly interesting shapes.  
  
"...Then why don't ya just quit?" Stan replied, scratching his head.  
  
"You saw that argument, right?" Dee grimaced. "I'm pretty much the only restraining bolt on the staff that won't quit and won't be fired."  
  
Stan tilted his head. "'Won't be fired'? Who's the bright spark-"  
  
" _Don't ask._ "  
  
For the next minute or so, everyone just sat on benches as Dee rolled her cig around her mouth. Eventually, she took it out to speak again.  
  
"Anyway, I forgot to thank you with Bennings back there-he gets the short end of an already stubby stick a lot. So, thanks."  
  
Dee attempted to smile at that. Attempted, because the overall effect with a lit cigarette in her mouth came off as less 'thankful' and more 'relieved that somebody with a soul still existed in her immediate vicinity.'  
  
"...Good  
  
"...Er," Wendy began, tapping her fingers together. "Is it kinda rude to ask what, um, he's in for? He seemed...jumpy?"  
  
"Paranoid schizophrenic," Dee replied, taking a draw of her cigarette. "He was always one, but it got aggravated from borderline manageable to, well, him  _now_ , when he met the mysterious Jane Doe he keeps calling the 'beautiful lady'. Instant institutionalization, just add abuse." She exhaled before laughing bitterly. "Actually a big murder case couple years back, mostly because it was yellow journalism fodder. Pretty young white girl, burned alive? Network news eats that cr...crud right up. Excuse my language and cynicism."  
  
She sighed. "Of course, his  _friends_ actually convinced him to plead not guilty, but eventually recanted their alibis once they saw him breaking apart. Probably the worst thing they could have done; now he thinks he's utterly irredeemable. Hence, Higgins; his own personal torturer, existing purely to hurt him back for killing his 'daughter.'" Her expression turned dark. "Of course,  _those three,_ " she added, growling out the emphasis, "think what he really needed was some real-life torturers, because it's not like we have insanity pleas for reasons or anything like that."  
  
She muttered something unintelligible as she tapped the cigarette in an ashtray.  
  
"...Well, it can't be all bad," Soos replied, trying to smile. "He's got someone who cares about him, even if they don't."  
  
She smirked. "Thanks. But really, I'm a nurse. It's my job to give a...mouse's butt whether a patient lives or dies." Her face fell. "Only one who actually does the job at all, it feels like."  
  
She took another draft, apparently deep in thought. "Whoever you're seeing-I pity them. I really do."  
  
"Actually," Stan said, shrugging. "Wendy here is doing a summer school report on how mental health evolved through the years, and since this is the closest mental hospital…"  
  
Dee rose an eyebrow. "Seriously? Why you'd bring your grandkids then?"  
  
"Grand niece and nephew. They're actually my editors," Wendy began. "They're tweens, sure, but they've got a gift for fact checking. Skipped a couple grades, both of them."  
  
The eyebrow rose a little further, as Dee looked over at Mabel, who was currently imitating a rather wall-eyed face on the fountain before giggling. "O...kay."  
  
She shook her head. "Here's a citation they can put in: Bishopgate is a barely functioning, corrupt, and mold-eaten pile of junk barely held together by a combination of inertia and trustees beating their heads against it, and has been since its foundation. About any other asylum is probably better than Bishopgate. An  _attic_ is probably better than Bishopgate-at least whoever is chained up there is next to family." She laughed, even more caustically.  
  
An awkward silence followed that.  
  
"...Bad week?", asked Wendy sympathetically.  
  
"Especially," Dee rejointed, leaning back. "I hear they can't fund the counseling program anymore, so that's one less rope holding my patients from offing-maybe I shouldn't say that in front of your...er, grand niblings," she hurriedly finished.  
  
"Huh. Didn't know that was a word. And..?"  
  
"We're cool. Can't exactly be any more morbid than what we just saw."  
  
Mabel thought on that. "...Well, maybe not  _cool_ cool, but listening to someone finally being able to complain can't damage our faith in humanity more than those jerks did."  
  
"Hey, look on the bright side! You don't have to  _work with them._ "  
  
Another grievance, another draft of smoke. "If it comes off like I'm venting-I am. I know I'm an utter stranger and all, but...I can't pay for a therapist. If I can get someone to break free of this tar pit of a hospital and get a lot off my chest at the same time…" She shrugged. "Honestly, this place? Is a zombie. Living despite ceasing all vital functions, mindlessly lurching across medical schools, finding bright young minds to devour and leaving them the walking dead." She motioned to herself. "Present company very much included."  
  
Another puff. Idly, Soos began to wonder if they made cigarettes that lasted that long on purpose. Didn't seem smart for a tobacco company.  
  
"...Actually," Mabel began, feeling very awkward, "We heard about some...other things after we started the off-site internet investigation."  
  
Dee's eyebrow rose again. "Would this happen to involve Barbie Shrink?"  
  
"No, but-" Mabel stopped. "Wait, what?"  
  
"Ah. sorry. Director McClusky." Dee shrugged. "Probably rude to talk about her like that, but screw it, she deserves it."  
  
Mabel's eyes narrowed. "...Excuse me, what did you just say?"  
  
"That she's an idiot?" Dee gave another one of her bitter laughs. "She's every vapid blonde stereotype in the world if you aged them up and removed all sense of joy or curiosity? Miss, life lesson; there are some people in this world who are good, some who are evil, most in between, but there's at least a few who morality-free because they're genuinely useless. McClusky is in that last category."  
  
Mabel narrowed her eyes a little more.  
  
"...Moving on," Dee said an obviously uncomfortable tone. "What did you hear?"  
  
"That there were lots of weird things going on at Bishopgate," Soos replied. "Like, er, very angry small dudes causin' trouble for the patients and-"  
  
There was suddenly a large  _fwoosh_ sound as Dee inhaled a bit more smoke than she probably wanted.  
  
After a brief coughing fit, Dee cleared her throat, putting out her cigarette. "Oh, uh, that? Yeah, don't know when that started. Think it was a schizophrenic delusion that got a life of its own. Happens, you know?"  
  
Before the Shack could continue questioning, Dee sprang to her feet. "Anyway, smoke break's over." With that, the nurse retrieved a phone from a back pocket. "Want me to lead you to the library?"  
  
"Nah, we're cool. Thanks."  
  
"Okay then. Please enjoy your visit. I have rounds." With that, Bishopgate's long-suffering head nurse wheeled off.  
  
"...I get the sense she's a person who needs more hugs," Mabel said, watching her pace grow increasingly swift.  
  
" _I_ get the sense she's hidin' something." Stan stroked his beard stubble. "She's not very good at cover-ups. Probably not good for her lungs either."  
  
Dipper nodded. "Ten bucks she's going to be an obstacle in our investigation."  
  
"Fifteen she's key witness." Mabel replied.  
  
"...Knew we should have gone with 'great aunt'." Soos muttered.  


 

* * *

The rest of the initial investigations didn't go much better.  
  
"Well, apparently a Lara Woronov thinks she's a nurse." Wendy sipped as the Bishopgate cafeteria soda, which was quite possibly the flattest thing she had ever tasted. "Which I was only told  _after_ she led us in a grand circle through the second floor."  
  
"Stan and I didn't have much better luck," Dipper said as he inspected a sad-looking sandwich. "We found  _something_ weird, but it was in the gift shop."  
  
Said thing was a rather creepy-looking picture book, with the design of a tall, ominous mountain with an equally ominous castle on it, entitled  _Deildegast_ in ominous letters. Ominously.  
  
"Not that great of a story, but I got new Halloween exhibits from it." Stan shrugged.  
  
Wendy narrowed her eyes at the book. "Who in their right mind-?"  
  
A passing man in a patient gown cleared his throat.  
  
"Right, bad figure of speech. Sorry, dude."  
  
The patient grumbled and walked off, muttering something that included 'school' and 'just like'.  
  
Wendy coughed. "Let's try that again. Who...can be such a jerk they'd get something like  _that_ for a kid?"  
  
"The kind of people who go on tours in the shady insane asylums with creepy pasts?" Mabel guessed.  
  
"...I'd amend that to 'anyone who goes on a hospital tour to begin with,' but that's me." Wendy sighed. "So, to recap; we have no leads, the only sa- _competent_  nurse is in on the cover-up, we can only investigate because the front desk hates his boss, which means any continued investigations are hanging by a thread that will be torn if someone less bored gets a shift when we're getting the day's visitor badges." She sighed, slumping on the table. "Anything I missed?"  
  
"The one weird thing we did get doesn't even rhyme?" Stan opened the book, revealing a comic spread of a the mountain and a cloaked figure that lay beneath it. "Seriously, the closest thing this thing comes is rhymin' 'ghosts' with itself. 'Here is a mountain, a mountain'-"  
  
"Boss, please. Not in here." Wendy groaned, holding her head.  
  
"Really, dudes, the main problem is we didn't come in here with a good plan." Soos shrugged. "Everything we thought of was a way to actually  _get_ in. Now that we  _are_  in...we had no idea where to start lookin'."  
  
"And the cover-up being tripped." Stan replied. "Probably need to be hushed on why we're actually here from now on; I don't think our real reason's gone up the chain, but I'm bettin' Dee has _someone_ she doesn't get sick talking to."  
  
"...Can we do that tomorrow?" Mabel said pointing at her brother. "I think today's taken a lot out of Dipper."  
  
For indeed, Dipper's reply to this was his snoring being suddenly cut off. "Huh-? I- _auuugh._ "  
  
A brief dash to the bathroom to wipe possibly-expired sandwich mayonnaise off his face later, Dipper came back, suddenly looking exhausted.  
  
"...You been gettin' enough sleep?" Soos asked. "I don't  _think_ that soda has  _that_ much caffeine…"  
  
"It...it doesn't have caffeine, Soos." Dipper rubbed his eyes. "I don't know. I was fine when we sat down, but now? Feels like someone snuck up behind me and hit me with a brick."  
  
"I know the feelin'" Stan replied in sympathy. "Used to stay up late all the time, readin' comics. Never worked out later in the school day."  
  
"I know, it's just...oooh, head's throbbing, head's throbbing." Dipper began to massage his temple, groaning.  
  
"Well, that's probably our cue to get done with for the night," Wendy said, a bit more eager than she had probably intended. "Sleeping arrangements, boss?"  
  
"Well, I didn't take the RV, so I think it's motel-town for the week," Stan said as he pulled out a brochure. "Thankfully, I know a place with a good-ish health record. Also; bunk beds."  
  
"Top bed!"  


 

* * *

  
_Here is a mountain, a mountain of ghosts._  
  
Dipper blinked at the sign, frowning. "Thanks for the directions, Captain No-Help." A little more cinching of his coat later, and trudged on through the snowdrift, towards the softly glowing mountain.  
  
_And here on the mountain, there is a castle._  
  
Dipper rolled his eyes and pushed through the big oak doors of said castle, ignoring the wind. Or was that the moans? Whatever, it's not like the spacious foyer, filled with what had to be a dozen clocks, was any less eerie.  
  
_And beneath the castle there is a king._  
  
A sarcophagus, decorated with what appeared to be a crucifix-topped altar torn in two, with a coffin with a star topping it on either side engraved on its lid, waited in the center of the cavern. Nodding an affirmative to the others, Dipper reached for a crowbar.  
  
_The king who built the castle on the-_  
  
" **What do you want?** "  
  
And just like that, the spell was broken, and Dipper realized  _exactly_ what the "others" were in this case.  
  
He wasn't sure how he managed to negotiate the stairs in his blind panic, nor cared.  
  
A few minutes later, in the middle of a now rather damaged garden of blue roses, Dipper shivered. Of course, he had to take off his coat when helping those... _things._ It was only the middle of...summer…?  
  
Confused, the boy checked his surroundings. The flower bushes looked perfectly green, so what the heck was up with the snow-  
  
Relief surfed through Dipper as the memories of being in the car came rushing back. He had fallen asleep, hadn't he? Well, that was a relief. The whole Teihiihan business must've been getting to him, or maybe a bit of mayo went down when his face made friends with that sandwich.  
  
Right then, nicer dream. First of all, let's get that snow to become...grass…  
  
Didn't seem to be listening.  
  
Okay...time for a hard reset then. Dipper closed his eyes, thought about waking up, and…  
  
Oh. Dream didn't stop at all.  
  
Cruuuuud.  
  
Okay, apparently there was some sort of dream parasite he picked up. Dipper began to scour his memory for info in the journals about creatures that kept you trapped in sleep. Succubi? No, a younger version of Wendy would be present if one of them was out and about, and the dream would be more pleasant besides. Sandman? The gothic castle and theme of unearthing a dead king fit, but as far as Dipper knew, he wasn't grieving for someone at all, let alone obsessively enough for a ghost to smell and insert itself into his brain. Night hag? No, they sent you into sleep paralysis at some point, and besides, didn't they usually show up in animal form-  
  
" **You didn't hear me.** "  
  
Slowly, Dipper spun around to face the source of that deep, growly voice.  
  
The dog that had to be the size of Stan's car breathed in his face, a bit of shadow escaping its mouth like breath fogging the air.  
  
"...Yipe."  
  
" **I ask again. What do you want?** "  
  
A few breaths, and Dipper calmed down. "Okay. Okay. I know you're hungry, but I haven't had much sleep lately, so can we make a deal? You let me have eight hours now, and you can hag me the two nights after-"  
  
" **What. Do you. Want. From Bishopgate.** _ **Thornslave.**_ "  
  
Dipper nearly discovered what happened when you fainted in a dream right then in there, the near-roar of the shadow-dog's voice ringing in his ears. "If this is your home-kind of a jerk move to attack mental patients, even if you're starving-we're trying to save it from monsters who might eat-"  
  
" **You little-** "  
  
Dipper could say no more before the dog knocking him to the ground, paw cutting off his air supply.  
  
" **Don't you** _ **dare**_   **try that again. Lie to me all you want, but if you..** _ **blaspheme**_ **by telling me you're here to help again, I will sell you to my Keeper. Tell me, thornslave; how much you wanna bet your master cares enough about you to buy you back from him?** "  
  
"M-Master? K-Keeper?" Dipper choked out. "I...I don't know what you're talking…"  
  
Slowly, the dream turned darker, and darker, as the young investigator's dream-lungs began to lose air. All he could feel was an interesting sensation-like the dog was sniffing the inside of his skull.  
  
A sensation that suddenly stopped.  
  
" **You…You're really a child?** "  
  
Dipper became aware of the pressure on his throat lift. A quick gasp of air later, and the blur cleared.  
  
There was no shadow-hound. But there was its voice.  
  
" **So. Not a servant of the others. But maybe a hunter? The Spear and Shield, claiming yet more of** _ **our**_ **magic is theirs? Bear Lodge having a bring-your-kids-to-hunt day? Or just some reckless and selfish idiot who told you the real world is just like a Goosebumps novel?**  
  
" **Never mind. It's But tell whatever sociopathic dumbass who thinks that sending kids in first is a good plan that he needs protection against dream-poison. As tempting as it is to just let him drown in it, I'm not going to let a kid suffer for his mistakes."**  
  
The sniffing started again, followed quickly by...not biting, but definitely the sense that it had its mouth on parts. A quick yanking feeling and-  
  
The clocks surrounding the garden shattered, and Dipper suddenly felt very awake. More awake than he had been for a week. Even asleep.  
  
" **But tell him this; Investigate all you like. May be something I haven't found. But the** _ **instant**_ **you step on the toes of my freehold, make a list of everything you can lose. You're going to mark each and every item off, one by one. Except, of course, your life. It's a waste of good sorrow.** "  


 

* * *

 

  
"What the heck does a spear-"  
  
And now Dipper was awake. Shoot.  
  
Given the relative darkness, he guessed it was night by now. Given the material above him, Dipper supposed he was in the bunk bed now.  
  
"...Hello? Is anyone still awake? ...No?"  
  
Yawning, Dipper slipped out. Noise would probably wake up the others, so all he needed to do was just walk over to the bathroom, brush his teeth and maybe put on some deodorant. Showers would probably wake up the other lodgers in the room, as he doubted Stan would spring for multiple rooms.  
  
So, as quietly as he could, he made his way over to the bathroom. Slowly, deliberately, he opened the door-  


 

* * *

  
"WAAAAH!"  
  
Thankfully for everyone still in the car, Stan had parked before Dipper catapulted out of sleep.  
  
"WHOA, WHAT, WHEN-Oh hi Dipper. Show up without pants to the math test again?"  
  
"Soos!" Relief flooded through Dipper. "You're alive!"  
  
Immediately, the handyman's bemusement evaporated. "Knew that mayo had gone bad."  
  
"Oh man, Soos, it was  _awful!_ The dream, not the mayo, but-there was this bathroom, see, and as soon as I opened, there was this black  _thing_ with these huge, egg-white eyes, and then-oof."  
  
Soos used the sudden hug to pat Dipper on the back. "Hey. Whatever it was, it didn't happen out here in the real world."  
  
"...Thanks," Dipper said, returning the pat.  
  
Then the rest of the dream came flooding back.  
  
"...But I definitely think some _one_ is out here in the real world. And they are  _angry._ "

* * *

 

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say here, except I am slooow. Sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> Gravity Falls is the property of Disney, the New World of Darkness belongs to Onyx Path/White Wolf. Feel free to ask me non-spoiler lore info in the reviews or over PM. It's just that there's not a lot I can say, since this is a mystery story.


End file.
